


All the Time in the World

by Stillunravishedbride



Series: Time After Time [3]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers - Freeform, Class five mutant, Erotica, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Fun, Healing the Winter Soldier, Lions and tigers and smut oh my!, Longing, Love, Lust, Memory Loss, Multi, Mutants, OT3, Omega Mutant, Pregnancy, Romance, Slow Burn, Tenderness, Wakanda, What does one wear to a prison break?, X-men - Freeform, Yearning, parenting, polyamoury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2018-09-18 10:46:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 286,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9381158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stillunravishedbride/pseuds/Stillunravishedbride
Summary: The dark-haired man known as the Winter Soldier lies motionless in his chilly glass coffin, the skin on his face a pale bluish white, eyelashes streaked with crystalline frost. But he does not look dead, not quite; perhaps something more like Snow White awaiting love’s first kiss. Zaara spent a good deal of her evening reading about sleeping princesses and Bucky, first and foremost, reminds her of a disheveled fairytale prince with his long brown hair and dark stubble peppering his chiseled jaw. His is a rare sort of masculine beauty, frozen in time. She smiles and imagines what it would be like to kiss those bluish lips, wondering if he would wake up slowly, eyelashes fluttering, to smile back at her.But she gasps and turns away, burying her face in the crook of Steve’s neck. He looks down, startled by the way her silken tresses tickle his jaw, the unexpected weight of her body making him tremble. “Zaara?” He’s worried about her, scared for Bucky, and thrilled to feel her body pressing up against his own. He’s never comforted a woman this way before, using his body. It feels so natural and incredibly satisfying.





	1. All of Me

 

 

_All of me_

_Why not take all of me?_

_Can’t you see_

_I’m just a mess without you._

_Take my lips_

_I want to lose them_

_Take my arms_

_I’ll never use them._

_Your goodbyes left me with eyes that cry_

_How can I_

_Go on, dear, without you?_

_You took the part_

_That once was my heart,_

_So why not take all of me?_

Steve Rogers sighs.

 

He sips his overpriced coffee cautiously, the searing heat having burnt him once already on the surface of his tongue and in the cavity of his throat. _That’s what I get from being in a hurry,_ he thinks. The pain does not overwhelm him. He knows it will heal quickly, faster than the pain he feels in the rest of his body, courtesy of Tony Stark. But it all amounts to nothing compared to the emptiness he carries in his heart.

 

Physical pain can heal—eventually. It’s the other kind he’s not so sure about.

 

On the surface of his skin, the bruises have started to fade—not that it matters. Almost three weeks have passed since Siberia and, given his healing factor, those marks should be gone by now. But they’re not. He sighs yet again and turns his attention back down to the sheet of paper on the tiny bistro table. It remains blank but for two words that say, “Dear Tony.” He swallows and reminds himself this letter is long overdue. But he just can’t seem to get past the first line.

 

He’s gotten used to feeling completely alone in the world, the deep, profound solitude so familiar he’s come to welcome it like an old friend. But this time around, it’s different. This time, it’s as if he’s lost Bucky all over again. And now, he’s lost Tony, too, not to mention the Avengers, the only family he’s known since his days with the Howlers.

 

It’s a bitter pill to swallow.

 

The door to the café opens and he automatically glances up. He can’t help himself, it’s an involuntary response. It’s the serum and all his years living as a soldier; it’s as if he can never be unaware of his surroundings. Perhaps he should have stayed in his room to write the letter since he’s so distracted, but for some reason, his heart sought to escape those walls.

 

A curvy brunette, her hair cascading in waves, catches his eye. She enters the café, her creamy skin contrasting with the cheerful ebony faces of Birnin Zana. She seems happy at first, but as soon as her eyes meet his, she frowns. Steve’s never gotten used to all the female attention his new body seems to attract, especially in the bold social climate of the 21st century. But this girl--this woman--looks at him with loathing, not desire, and it reminds him of the way dames used to look at him in the old days before the serum back when he had been the one seeking their attention in the dance halls of Brooklyn. They dismissed him then just as he will dismiss her now. He has done nothing to warrant her scowl.

 

He glances down at the sheet again and its blankness stares right back at him. It’s like his life—open and empty. He doesn’t know what’s coming. There’s no horizon ahead, no future to look forward to, nothing to dream about. He feels like one big blank. An empty space.

 

Without Bucky, he is truly alone.

 

Sure, he still has his team and he needs to do something about them. Sam, Wanda, Clint, and the new guy Scott—he hasn’t forgotten them. They’re there, floating in that hellhole called the Raft, and he won’t abandon them. _T’Challa will find a way to help,_ he tells himself, though he knows it’s complicated. T’Challa’s done so much already by agreeing to put Bucky in cryo and guard him for God knows how long. For once, his best friend will finally be safe. If Wakanda can’t protect him, then no one can. Steve saw the fortress where Bucky sleeps in the ice and he seriously doubts there is any facility in the world more secure than that. They are guarding Bucky the way they guard their vibranium. He’s a treasure without a price tag.

 

A sweet scent tugs gently at his attention. It hovers in the air, calling to him, but Steve refuses to lift his eyes from the paper. Nevertheless, it seeps through the heavy coffee bean aroma of the café and piques some reptilian portion of his brain. It seems strangely familiar--enticing, arousing, and positively delectable. It calls to him like a siren. A poignant ache thrums in his heart but everything seems to make his heart ache nowadays so he dismisses it. He needs to write this letter. He needs to start his life over again.

 

Someone pulls up a chair directly across from him and sits down, uninvited. Steve is usually very polite, but he doesn’t have it in him today. He’s been through too much. Brusqueness takes the place of his usual good manners. “What?” he murmurs and glances up, surprised to see the brunette who just walked through the door. She glares at him, her expression even grouchier than before. It vaguely occurs to him that she is beautiful, though it doesn’t matter. Her face is soft and round, indigo eyes with a hallowed shape that might remind him of some pre-Raphaelite painting, perhaps, were she not narrowing them in anger.

 

She frowns and holds his gaze before she speaks in a flat, accusatory voice. “What are you?”

 

Steve blinks in surprise. “What?” he repeats. It’s all he can manage. He tenses up without even thinking about it since the woman’s attitude suggests a threat and every fibre in his body responds to it. But he’s confused. Her scent comes stronger now that she is near him, unmasked by the coffee bean aroma that otherwise dominates the room, and it takes his breath away. His heart flutters and he feels an astonishing sexual jolt that is positively electric. _I always did like brunettes, but this is ridiculous._

 

“You’re Hydra, aren’t you?” she whispers menacingly before she rolls her eyes in exasperation. “What the hell are you doing in Wakanda? How did you even get here?”

 

Steve tries to answer her, but can’t. He finds himself frozen to the spot and can’t summon his voice, can’t even move a finger. The woman’s frown deepens and she places her hands upon his forearm, fingers trembling. A thrill runs up and down his spine at her touch. He shivers and she notices.

 

 _Who is she? How is she doing this to me?_ It makes no sense, but this woman excites him. Tremendously.

 

 “Damnit,” she whispers softly and releases his arm so abruptly he wonders if his skin burnt her fingers. “And I was having such a good day.” She stares at him though her eyes seem distant and Steve notices she seems to be thinking to herself. He waits because he can’t do anything else. He watches the movement of her eyes, her mouth and, against his own will, imagines brushing his thumb over those pink lips.

 

“Get up.”

 

Steve finds himself rising from his chair, pen and paper abandoned on the table.

 

“Walk,” the woman commands in the same flat voice.

 

Steve finds his limbs moving on their own and it’s all very awkward. His legs propel him forward with irregular steps that feel wholly unlike his natural gait, but no one notices. He doesn’t want to go, doesn’t want to leave. He's being moved against his will and can’t even glance back at the piece of paper left upon the bistro table. His pen is with it and, in all likelihood, he will never see it again.

 

The woman marches behind him where he can’t see her and he finds himself opening the door to the café. No one notices them, not the barista or the customers squatting at their tables, faces planted on their cellphones. Like a gentleman though he has no say in the matter, he holds the door open for her as she walks out, giving him a chance to take stock. His eyes, the only parts of his body that seem to be under his control, look her up and down, note her ample curves, her angry but beautiful eyes, and the rich, wavy brown hair that drapes down her back and swishes back and forth, long and luscious. He imagines stroking it and wonders if those locks would feel like silk between his fingers.

 

She walks in front of him now and he follows, savoring the view in spite of himself. A little bit of panic enters his heart since he has never lost control like this before. Steve’s body has always belonged to him, obeyed his will to the most intricate extent after the serum except, perhaps, for that one time with Private Lorraine long ago. It betrayed him then, left him helpless in the wake of her amorous overtures, and it feels something like that now. He realizes he is being kidnapped and, though he really couldn’t imagine a more attractive kidnapper, he knows beautiful bodies can be just as cruel as ugly ones. Madame Hydra showed him that.

 

Nevertheless, her body hypnotizes him. He can’t tear his eyes from the wavy hair that sways just over the curve of her buttocks and his mind wanders, imagining the way her thighs rub together beneath her tight pencil skirt. It tugs at him, transports his mind to a whole other place, deep into his body and its longings. _Focus,_ he admonishes himself, and he manages to devote some attention to their surroundings. He’s being taken prisoner, after all.

 

They’re on a busy street in Birnin Zana, the capital of Wakanda. Crowds pass them by, bodies mill all around them in every direction, some even cross between the two of them but his feet never falter as he follows her, step by step. _Could Wanda do something like this?_ he wonders. His mind races and he starts assessing, evaluating, studying her to gather information. He attempts to draw connections with all the knowledge he’s accumulated in the years since he woke from the ice. Enhanced individuals are everywhere these days, but there’s no visual indication of anything happening to him, no telltale red energy signature like Wanda’s. All he has to go on is his experience inside his own body as it is being moved against his will.

 

So far, he notes that his mind continues to be his own so he knows she’s not controlling that. This is no dream. And if she is using telekinesis to move his body, he’d have to concede this woman’s skills are far more sophisticated than Wanda’s. The scarlet energy Wanda wields can certainly move bodies from point A to point B, even make them fly, but not with this degree of control. Someone is doing the walking for him, pinning his arms to his sides, his head facing forward at all times. There are too many details happening here, too many muscle groups being manipulated at once. If this woman is responsible for it, and he’s certain she is, then she is indeed much more experienced than Wanda, if not more powerful. And that would make her far more dangerous.

 

Steve almost shudders, but then he reminds himself of her words. _She thought I was Hydra. That means she must be their enemy. And any enemy of Hydra’s is a friend of mine . . ._

“Hey, girl!” a jovial voice hovers over them, stopping them short on the busy street.

 

The woman backs up until she nearly steps on his toes. He feels the swell of her buttocks collide briefly with his thigh and it sets him on fire. _What’s this? She just bumps into me and I’m all hot to trot? She may be a peach, but this is above my pay grade._

 

“Dasha,” the woman says in a friendly voice he hasn’t heard from her yet. How Steve loves the way it sounds. Soft and sonorous, it’s like music to his ears. “Are you done for the day?”

 

Steve manages to move his eyes and they take in a young, virile, and somewhat effeminate looking man with chocolate skin and a sparkling gaze. He’s wearing form-fitting clothes of the stretchy sort that show off the lines of his muscular physique. _Some kind of dancer,_ Steve guesses.

 

Not in the least bit shy, the lithe young man chuckles and clicks his tongue, looking Steve up and down. “You going to introduce me to your friend?” he teases.

 

“Dasha, this is . . . this is Brad,” the woman finally says with great reluctance, wincing at the name. Steve notices.

 

“Oh!” Dasha squeals in high-pitched delight, paying no attention to her exasperated tone. He has eyes only for Steve and grins at him enviously. “Must be your boyfriend, no?”

 

“Yeah,” the woman grabs onto the idea and moves closer to Steve, seizing hold of his arm in a custodial manner as if she’s supporting a toddler or a senior citizen. Once again, her fingers feel electric upon his bare skin. Her hip grazes against his thigh for a moment and he feels that same rush again. “He’s, uh, sort of the strong, silent type.”

 

“No kidding!” her friend chuckles, not missing a beat. “But you don’t need him to say much, do you girl?”

 

“Quiet, you,” the woman giggles in spite of herself. “Don’t you have rehearsal?”

 

“I’m going, I’m going,” Dasha admits begrudgingly. “Don’t keep no secrets from me, eh?”

 

“My life is an open book,” she grins while her brow rises with incredulity. Steve detects it out the corner of his eye.

 

“Alright, dearie. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he nods and gives Steve a wink.

 

To his surprise, Steve manages to wink back.

 

Dasha laughs louder.

 

The woman frowns. “Let’s go, Muffinhead,” she tugs at Steve’s arm bitterly, the wink not escaping her notice. They walk again. _I’ll have to keep him on a tight leash. He’s resisting me any way he can._ After a few moments, she lets go of his arm. “We’re getting out of here.” They pick up the pace and turn into a small, deserted alley—perhaps the only spot in the busy city not plagued by crowds. “What the hell are you?” the woman murmurs and Steve feels his back pressing up against a stucco wall.

 

He is helpless and, strangely enough, he is ok with that. No one knows where he is and if this woman wants to kill him, there is not a damn thing he can do about it. An odd sense of peace comes over him. He can’t call for help, can’t see a way out of the situation. He is completely at her mercy and somehow, inexplicably, he almost feels as if he likes it.

 

She still seems angry but he doesn’t detect any cruelty in her eyes. Her distaste for Hydra puts his heart at ease--somewhat. But that scent, _her_ scent, keeps penetrating his mind and distracting him. It seems so familiar, so beautiful. It beckons him and he would like to taste it, if he could, so if he’s going to die this way, it’s mostly alright by him—a tragedy caused by a little friendly fire, so to speak. His gut tells him she’s not a bad person, that there’s some mistake being made, and that he is bearing the brunt of it. _So be it._ Steve breathes as deeply as he can, given that he doesn’t really have any control over his body, and waits. It’s her move.

 

She runs her fingers up and down his forearm again and sighs with disappointment. An unwitting blush flushes in her cheeks from the skin contact, but she raises her hands up to his face and meets his eyes anyways. He gazes back at her with wonder and somehow, she can detect the edges of his sadness, the burden that he carries. And yet, his spirit feels lifted and the corners of his lips almost manage to curl up into a smile, but she’s controlling that, too, so the smile happens only in his eyes.

 

She starts in surprise and backs away. No man has ever looked at her quite that way before, especially not a man she’s taken prisoner.  _But then, I’ve never taken anyone prisoner before._ “Crap,” she says, finally. She frowns and releases him. He gazes at her pouting lips and can’t stop himself from finding them cute. “And I was having such a good day.”

 

She reaches into her bag and, after a minute of frustrated digging, manages to exhume a cell phone from amongst all the paraphernalia she carries. A few moments of tapping and Steve can hear the tone of a ringer. "Kitty? Kitty. It’s me. Listen, I’m really up the creek. I, I’ve found somebody . . . No, not one of ours.”

 

 _One of ours?_ Steve can almost hear the voice on the other end of the line but it’s soft, softer than the tone of the ringer. The sounds of the city drown out the rest, so he decides to make do with the end of the conversation his ears can catch.

 

“He’s enhanced. Like, to crazy extremes. I can tell. And he’s real big, all muscly--like the jolly green giant or something. I’ve got him in a hold. If I let him go, he could kill me in two seconds flat with his baby finger.”

 

Steve doesn’t like the sound of that. He would never hurt her.

 

A few moments of silence as she listens to the voice on the other end of the line, then she glances at him. “Oh, yeah,” she confirms, nodding. “You should see the look in his eye. It’s mean. Totally mean. Absolutely vicious. I don’t wanna know what he’s done with strength like that. He’s gotta be some kind of killing machine.”

 

 _Killing machine?_ Steve tries to raise his eyebrows in shock, but can’t.

 

“Don’t worry, he’s not going anywhere. But I can’t read him,” she laments, frustrated. “At all. He’s got some kind of mental shield. I might be able to breach it with a level three, but it’s too dangerous.”

 

Another silence.

 

“No, I won’t. It might kill him. This is bad, Kitty. Very bad. And I didn’t even mention his telomeres. They’re completely out of whack, like he’s a hundred years old but doesn’t look a day over thirty. His regenerative capacity is off the charts. I can’t figure it out. We’re in real trouble if Hydra or whatever it calls itself now is making these things and sending them all over the world. How the hell did he even get into Wakanda?”

 

Another silence.

 

“Yeah. I’m gonna tell him, but let me try again, okay? Just give me a chance. And, and don’t tell Storm. Not yet. Let me handle this on my own. Please?” Her eyes are pleading—Steve can’t miss it.

 

He swallows, surprised he can manage to do that much. His eyes never leave her though she refuses to meet his gaze.

 

“ _Talk_ to him? Are you kidding me?” she sounds incredulous. Disgusted. “What do you think he’ll say? I’ve heard it all before.” She actually does look at him now before laughing bitterly. “ _Cut off one head, two more shall take its place,_ blah-ditty-blah blah blah _._ If I have to hear it again, I’m gonna shove all those heads up their asses.”

 

Steve definitely wishes he could laugh out loud.

 

“Okay. I’ll call you back. I promise.” She sighs and hangs up her phone, staring at him in irritation.

 

He looks back at her innocently. Affectionately. He holds her gaze for a long while, his lips almost managing to crack a smile.

 

She huffs and stomps away from him, annoyed. He follows her, helpless. But this time, he allows his eyes to travel up and down her body and linger there in appreciation until he decides that he likes it.

 

He likes being her prisoner.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The future has changed.
> 
> The Avengers and the X-men have yet to meet. The X-men operate in secret and do not share missions with Shield or the Avengers; at least, not yet.
> 
> This story is mostly canon compliant with the Marvel Cinematic Universe and begins where Captain America: Civil War left off--just before Steve writes his letter to Tony. Only minor changes from canon in that Steve has yet to rescue his team from the Raft. Bucky, however, has been put on ice.
> 
> The X-men's history matches the first three X-men movies with the addition of some original characters.
> 
> There is no time travel here, so if you want any of that, check out Part I or Part II of the Time After Time series. These are the same characters from the earlier stories, but this is the tale of how they all meet in present day--four years after Zaara returned back to the future and after their memories have been wiped. No one remembers anyone so we are starting from scratch. You don't need to read the other stories to enjoy this one. Details will unfold to bring you up to speed. Happy Reading!


	2. All of Me cont'd.

They stand for a moment elbow to elbow outside one of the largest hotels he's seen in Birnin Zana. She stares up at the towering structure while he stares at her.

 

When they enter the lobby, no one spares them a glance. He follows awkwardly behind her like some kind of servant or, perhaps, security detail even though he wears only a t-shirt and jeans. She strides ahead of him like she doesn’t even know he exists until they come to an elevator with a coded entry system. The woman has only to blink at the keypad before the doors slide open.

 

Steve marvels at this kind of power. She’s working the system without calling one jot of attention to herself. For all he knows, she could be a guest at this hotel, but his gut tells him that’s not the case. When they exit the elevator, they’re up on one of the highest floors and she walks down the hallway, glancing carefully at each door as if she’s testing them. There are maids all around, but they tend to their work and ignore them both. _Convenient,_ he thinks. Finally, one of the ornate doors opens without her touching it and they unceremoniously enter a suite. Dimly, he wonders about security cameras, but her powers managed to open a high-tech elevator without effort, so she can probably prevent the cameras from tracing them as well. _Also convenient._

 

The door closes behind them and Steve beholds a wall of windows offering a panoramic view of Birnin Zana. The woman breathes a sigh of relief, the first time he’s heard her do so since she came into the café. She turns to face him again and frowns, crossing her arms and tapping her foot impatiently.

 

“Alright, Mr. Thug. You have totally ruined my afternoon, but I am going to fix this. Now, go to the bathroom like a good boy. I don’t plan on violating the Geneva Convention today.”

 

She shoos him away with her hand and he finds himself turning his back on her.

 

“And no funny business—I’ll know. Don’t try to escape or I will kill you and eat you.”

 

Steve holds back yet another laugh, though he doubts he’d actually be able to laugh while she’s controlling his body, and finds himself heading through the open door of a large, luxurious lavatory covered in sparkling white marble. The door closes behind him and he’s suddenly in control of his body again, at least for the moment. Funny thing is, he doesn’t need to go. He barely had a sip of coffee so the woman’s overture is unnecessary. There are no windows and he’s not about to pound his way through the walls or damage the hotel room. He has no desire for revenge, no need to punish his beautiful but confused captor. Curiosity takes over and he decides to go with it. He opens the door to leave but, before he can speak or take a single step, she’s got control of him again.

 

She’s on the phone now, pacing back and forth.

 

“Damn Hydra. This is all my fault. I should have done something about them a long time ago.” She bites her lip, leans against the wall, and slides all the way down to the floor in despair. Steve can’t help himself, he imagines what it would feel like to have those teeth bite down on his own lip and he experiences a different kind of hunger. “Okay.”

 

She hangs up the phone and stares out the window, her face contorting in misery. A few moments pass until she finally looks up at him with an expression so frustrated he actually feels sorry for her. He doesn’t want her to feel bad and wishes he could help her to her feet, but she rises on her own and goes over to the bar. She fills a glass with water and hands it to him.

 

“Drink.”

 

He finds his hand free to take it, his lips free to sip though he’s not thirsty. A stern look from her warns him not to attempt anything other than what she wants him to do with it so he downs it, just to be polite. He wants to speak to her very badly now, but his vocal cords do not respond. His control over his own body has vanished yet again and he steps backwards until he feels the wall pressing against him.

 

The woman says nothing, but raises her hands and touches his face again, like she did in the alley. She doesn’t force him to close his eyes so he watches her. Carefully.

 

She squints, bites her lip, and squeezes her eyes shut, concentrating. He can tell she’s attempting something quite difficult. _But what? What is she trying to do?_ His curiosity can’t stop him from staring longingly at those lips. They get pinker with every bite. She’s so close to him now that if his hands were free he could place them around her waist or even grasp her shoulders, run his palms up and down the sides of her full breasts. He lets himself imagine what it would feel like to put his lips on hers and kiss that pink until it swells, run his mouth over her throat and all the way down to dip his tongue in that tantalizing hint of cleavage.

 

“Hey,” she says, sharply. “Knock it off.”

 

He blinks in surprise, but that’s all he can do. She blushes hotly, as if she just saw what he imagined doing to her.

 

_Did she just read my mind?_

 

She sighs in exasperation and narrows her eyes at him, but her fingers crawl along the edges of his face, move restlessly over his forehead and tremble when they reach his temples. It all feels electric, the closeness making her scent even stronger and he revels in it, wants to drink it all in. Suddenly she releases him, stomping her foot in frustration and scowling to herself before she returns to her corner. She sinks down to the floor again, head in hands.

 

“ _Worst. Kidnapper. Ever.”_

 

She heaves a huge sigh.

 

Steve suppresses another laugh.

 

Out comes the cellphone for the third time. She dials a number he can’t see, but the name she utters brings him yet another secret, unseen smile.

 

“T’Challa?”

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

The woman grips his upper arm, her fingers squeezing tightly around his bicep. Steve doesn’t mind; once again, electricity shoots through his body at her touch and he willingly savours her sweet, intoxicating scent. She guides him out of the lobby to the car circle outside. She left a hefty bit of cash in the hotel room and he figures it must have been a tip, though they left everything in the room untouched but a single glass. She obviously has good character. He has a suspicion about where she is taking him now but, given his own miserable lot in life, he’s decided it’s pretty much fine by him if she’s going to kill him. Bucky is safe. The Wakandans will release him when he’s ready to have a life again, and Steve has no doubt that it would be a life worth living. His only regret would be abandoning his friends in the Raft. But he has a distinct feeling that’s not what she’s going to do.

 

The bellhop summons them a taxi and they get inside.

 

“Fasten your seatbelt,” she instructs him and he finds his arms doing just as she says. It gives him a bit of a thrill, actually. For some inexplicable reason, he’s loves doing what she says. He _wants_ to give her his perfect obedience. It is a novelty for him, being prevented from taking charge of a situation, and it actually puts him at ease. He’s more than willing do whatever she tells him now even without this strange, telekinetic hold she has over him and finds himself hoping she will ask him to do many more things for her. Or  _to_ her.

 

“To the Palace. North entrance,” she instructs the driver and glares at him while her cheeks redden, as if she could somehow hear his thought.

 

They’re on the road for a while but Steve knows the route. His stomach tingles with anticipation.

 

They’re going back to T’Challa.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Steve keeps an apartment here. It’s a small suite, actually. He has a kitchenette, a modest sitting room, and a very comfortable bedroom with a view of a magnificent waterfall. They offered him grander accommodations in the luxurious north tower but he politely refused, knowing he’d feel more comfortable near the servants’ quarters. In fact, his new place once belonged to the original palace butler. He has no idea how long he’ll be staying and feels humbled by Wakandan hospitality given their wider culture of reclusiveness and xenophobia. But in his quarters, in the servants’ wing, the man once known as Captain America almost feels at home.

 

Not so in the north wing where abides all the luxury royalty can afford. Steve senses they are nearing T’Challa’s private quarters, but he can’t know for certain. He’s barely been in this part of the palace at all, avoids it like the plague, and takes all his meals alone in his room. He hardly knows anyone here, but the staff seems to recognize the woman and some even greet her by name.

 

“Miss Zaara,” they say, and she nods at them.

 

 _Zaara. Sounds exotic._ The name is foreign to him, but he doubts it’s Wakandan since the two of them seem to be the only light-skinned people for miles around. Finally, Steve recognizes a couple of the staff members who pass them by. They have been nothing but kind to him, but they only nod formally as is the way in the north wing, not realizing he has been taken prisoner—by someone who walks around the palace like she belongs there.

 

_Like she’s one of their own._

 

Suddenly, they turn a corner and leave the north wing. Steve recognizes the hall that leads to the palace gym. He has hit this gym any number of times during the weeks he’s lived in Wakanda, though he prefers the more traditional boxing club he once stumbled on in an ancient part of town which also happens to boast some fascinating ruins. T’Challa frequents the joint himself on occasion, but always in cognito. Both men share a fondness for the old days of the sport and spar together nearly every day, T’Challa making a point of introducing him to Muhammed Ali, his personal favourite, while Steve regales him with tales of Jack Dempsey.

 

The two of them enter the palace gym to the sound of fists pounding. T’Challa, coming to the end of an intense workout, huffs and puffs while he beats the hell out of a high tech punching bag. A digital monitor proudly registers the physical force of each individual blow.

 

The woman named Zaara waits patiently. She smiles and looks pleased enough to spare Steve a glance though she purposefully avoids meeting his eyes.

 

Steve allows himself to dwell upon her, taking in her body language from top to bottom. He really can’t resist since he’s stuck here anyways, being her prisoner and all. Her frustration has disappeared for the moment and she holds herself a slight bit proud--he can tell by the tilt of her chin, the way she leans on one leg and thrusts out a hip. _Like the cat that swallowed the canary._ Steve can’t help himself, he imagines running his hand up and down that curvy slope. His own impulse takes him by surprise, the intensity of it making him feel guilty enough to wonder whether he owes Sharon a call. _Someday, maybe,_ he tells himself, though he’s not sure what he would say. But he’s more than happy to simply gaze upon Zaara, pretend like she’s his to look at if only for the moment.

 

“Good afternoon, Miss Xaviar,” T’Challa ceases punching without fanfare. He welcomes her in a tone of voice Steve’s never heard from him before. It seems more than a little familiar, a tad bit saucy, and even somewhat affectionate.

 

 _Zaara. Zaara Xaviar. That must be her name._ It surprises him to see that this Zaara shares some sort of intimacy with T’Challa and he experiences an odd rush of jealousy over it.

 

“Kajanja,” she juts her chin out at him. “I brought you a present.”

 

The young Wakandan king smiles at his new friend. “Captain. How nice of you to join us.”

 

Zaara is startled. “You know him?”

 

T’Challa laughs. “Are you holding him, Miss Xaviar? Why does he not move?”

 

Zaara turns and regards Steve with new eyes, incredulous. “He’s some kind of enhanced Hydra thug. Very dangerous. I captured him at a coffee shop in the city.”

 

T’Challa bursts out with a full bellied laugh. “ _That_ is no Hydra thug, Miss Xaviar. On the contrary, I believe you have managed to kidnap Captain America.”

 

Zaara scowls. Her anger makes a sudden return and she shakes her head in denial. “Look, I don’t care if he’s Captain Canada eating a pound of poutine, I . . .” Her voice drops off and she puzzles. Steve can see she has that curious look in her eye again, the same one she sported when she placed her hands upon his face.

 

 _Beautiful_.

 

“Captain America? From the Avengers?” she whispers in a new tone of voice, dread pouring over every syllable.

 

T'Challa nods, raising his eyebrows.

 

_"No. Way.”_

 

“ _Yes. Way_ ,” the king imitates her tone and chuckles, terribly amused. The American expression sounds quite silly with his Wakandan accent. “What makes you think he is Hydra?”

 

She gets defensive now, waves her hands in the air erratically. “He’s crazy enhanced--and I can’t read him. _At all._ T’Challa, how do you know who he is? For sure?”

 

“The way everybody knows whom they know,” T’Challa admonishes her as if he positively relishes the opportunity. So far, he has chosen not to share his adventures with her, all that happened to him after the tragedy in Vienna. And he’s glad of it. “You have made a most brilliant mistake, Miss Xaviar.”

 

Zaara breathes a long breath and does not say a word. Her heart pounds and her blood runs cold. She knew about the hunt for the Winter Soldier, but she was busy mourning T’Chaka and did not think to question his son about the disaster with the Avengers. She heard about it in the news and chose to consider the matter his business, not hers. Besides, it is not as if she has the face of Steve Rogers plastered in her memory. She’s not even sure if she has ever even seen a picture of his face and only knows him by his mask. _What have I done? Who the hell is he?_

 

“Facial recognition technology,” T’Challa nods at the computer monitor on the far wall. “Shall we perform a search? Or did you think he wraps himself in the American flag on his day off?”

 

Zaara shakes her head again. _No. It can’t be._

 

“Look into my mind,” he retorts, unable to hide his amusement. It’s not often he gets to have the jump on her. “You’ll see.”

 

 _So she is a telepath._ Steve nearly manages to smile. He’s liking this Zaara more and more. Glimmers of Bucky, frozen in cryo, flash through his mind and a wild hope overtakes him. _I wonder . . . could she help?_

 

Zaara concentrates and extends her psychic tendrils towards the King. Steve holds his breath and waits. He can’t tell what is happening but after a moment, the look on her face makes it clear she realizes the truth: the man she holds in telekinetic suspension is indeed Steve Rogers.

 

_Otherwise known as Captain America._

_Shit._

 

“He’s staying in the palace,” T’Challa informs her, unable to suppress his grin. He seems intent upon making her feel even worse. “Over in the south tower.”

 

Her breathing speeds up again but she still does not extinguish her hold on Rogers. She won’t allow him to speak. Not yet. It’s the only way she can keep it together.

 

“Perhaps you should release him, now, Miss Xaviar? Please and thank you,” the King raises his eyebrows and stops short of issuing a command. Zaara seems so frazzled that he almost takes pity on her--almost. But he won’t forgive her threat; he knows she will tell Storm what he’s been up to and he’s been waiting to find something to hold over her head. He decides to enjoy her discomfort for a little while longer.

 

Zaara turns her gaze back upon the King and forces another deep breath through her lungs. She really does need to get a hold of herself. “Okay,” she whispers, embarrassed beyond belief and wishing for the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

 

Steve suddenly feels free again. The hold over his body vanishes and he can move his arms, his neck, and his legs. He immediately walks over to T’Challa and shakes his hand, sparing Zaara his gaze—for the moment. His spine tingles and he feels a most pleasant warmth deep down in his belly. It is something to be free again, to have his body back in his possession. Now, if he wanted to, he could use it to sweep Zaara up into his arms and press her body into his own, but he quickly brushes that thought away. “Your Highness,” he smiles and speaks with a confident voice. “It’s good to see you.”

 

“Captain,” T’Challa nods. “I see you have met Miss Xaviar.”

 

The two men hold each other’s hands a long while, in the Wakandan way. But Steve soon trains his eyes on her and stares pointedly. “Not exactly.”

 

Zaara swallows and clenches her fists to her sides before squeezing her eyes shut. This is not how her day was supposed to go. She has a session scheduled to begin in about twenty minutes and she is mortified. How can she just walk over and say hello to the man she has held captive an entire afternoon?

 

But she does it. Barely able to raise her eyes to meet his, she quickly casts them back to the ground in shame. She speaks softly and deliberately. “Pleased to meet you, Captain Rogers.”

 

His eyes twinkle as he shakes her hand. He restrains himself from reaching over and lifting her chin to make her eyes meet his. He can tell she feels very embarrassed. Very. Still, he won’t dismiss her. Not yet. “Miss Xaviar. Zaara, right?”

 

Zaara nods hesitantly, raising her eyes with great reluctance and wishing to be somewhere else. “Yes. Sorry. I’m, I’m very sorry for what happened today.”

 

Steve’s smile grows even bigger. “Think nothing of it. And, please--call me Steve.”

 

Zaara wishes she could curl up into a little ball and disappear. In fact, she is just about ready to run right out of the room. “Um, ok. Thank you  . . .” She tries to release his hand, but he won’t let go and holds her there in a firm but gentle grip. She panics and looks to T’Challa who is still enjoying the situation far too thoroughly. She unwittingly reads his mind and realizes she has really made his day. It embarrasses her even further, though she wouldn’t have thought that possible. She really needs to get the hell out of there.

 

“I’m very sorry, Captain . . .”

 

“Call me Steve,” he insists again, savoring her touch. Her face, though red with embarrassment, is lovely to him and he won’t let her turn away from him anymore.

 

“Steve,” she concedes in misery. “I’ve really got to get going. I have a class in about twenty minutes.”

 

“Oh,” Steve raises his eyebrows, hating to trouble her. “I won’t keep you.” He’s certainly not used to being the confident one when it comes to women, yet something inside him just won’t let her go. Neverthless, he overrules that part of himself and releases her hand.

 

Zaara steps back more slowly than she intended. Even though her legs desperately want to turn and run the hell out of there at top speed, her heart lingers. She really does feel badly for what she’s done. “Look, I’m very sorry. I could tell you were enhanced; there’s been so much of that going on with the new Hydra cells and the inhumans all over the place.”

 

Steve nods, thinking carefully despite the way his body keeps calling to him. He’s still reeling from her touch which, just as before, felt electric. “Zaara, may I call you Zaara?”

 

She nods hesitantly.

 

“Zaara, are you a telepath?”

 

She swallows and looks to T’Challa. “I really do need to get ready for my class. I’m very sorry.”

 

“Miss Xaviar,” T’Challa interjects. “Have them come to us. Let them see.”

 

She is startled. The idea would never have occurred to her. “Why?”

 

She knows the young King is unwilling to let it go. He’s enjoying it far too much, this little bit of power he has over her. She’s made a mistake, shown some weakness. And he enjoys that. “I think it’s significant you cannot read Captain America. Don’t you? It would make an interesting lesson for them,” T’Challa presses.

 

Reluctantly, she agrees. “I suppose so.” She resigns herself to it and sighs.

 

“How hard did you try?” T’Challa continues to push. He really can’t wait to find out.

 

“Hard enough,” she admits begrudgingly.

 

Steve is curious. “You tried to read my mind?”

 

She nods miserably. “And failed.”

 

T’Challa meets her eyes, begging for permission to reveal the truth. “Miss Xaviar. I cannot force you to do anything and I will not give away your secrets. But I made my own mistake once, when it came to the Captain. And if you can’t trust Captain America, then who the hell can you trust?”

 

Zaara, looking as if she is about to cry, casts her eyes back down to the floor. She turns and takes another step away from them, breathing heavily and pressing her hand to her brow like she has a bad headache.

 

Steve looks at T’Challa, a question on his lips, but T’Challa only and smiles and brings a finger to his mouth. His eyes dart back to Zaara, waiting.

 

She steels herself and turns to face them once again. “Alright. I’ll have the girls come to your ready room, then I’ll try to read him again. I’m sorry, T’Challa, but there’s too much at stake. I can’t reveal anything to a mind I can’t read. I’m sorry,” she directs her apology to Steve now. “This has never happened to me before.”

 

“It’s alright,” Steve becomes the perfect gentleman, his bad mood banished, perhaps, forever. It has been one of the most surprising afternoons of his life, and that’s saying a lot. “I don’t mind at all.”

 

“You see,” Zaara winces, making her confession as if she is back in Catholic school practicing the sacrament with a priest who offers her nothing but condemnation (and it doesn’t help that Steve Rogers would make one hell of a sexy priest.) “If you are who he says you are, then this is very embarrassing.”

 

“Please, don't be embarrassed,” Steve implores, though it thrills him to finally be able to speak to her. She intoxicates him. Everything about her—her scent, her touch, the very sound of her voice and even the blush in her cheeks warms him up inside.

 

She swallows. “If you really are Captain America . . .” She pauses, dumbfounded. “Then you saved my life before I was born. Half my family was in New York when you downed that plane in the war. And I . . . I just kidnapped you. I took you prisoner. I owe you . . .”

 

“You don’t owe me anything,” Steve smiles gently, liking her even more. He’s not one for compliments. He’s weary of the thanks people give him all the time, the implication that he’s some sort of saint, but he knows Zaara speaks the truth. It’s just that he doesn’t want her to feel like she owes him anything because she really doesn’t. He’d do it all over again, even if he never met her. But now that he _has_ met her, he likes her an awful lot. He looks to T’Challa for approval. “But I do have a favour to ask.”

 

The King gives a slight nod, still enjoying her discomfort and unable to conceal his glee.

 

Zaara nods. “Sure. Let me get through this class. And, and I’ll make it up to you—I promise. For everything I did today, taking you prisoner and, and everything. Alright?” She can hardly admit it to herself: _I kidnapped Captain America._

 

Steve chuckles, laughing her fears away. “Actually, I didn’t mind that at all. You really were the best kidnapper. Ever.”

 

She blushes even deeper and fairly runs for the door.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I couldn't bear leaving this chapter unfinished.  
> Hope you enjoyed it :-)
> 
> Btw, kajanja means "little smart ass" in Swahili, according to my friend who lived in Tanzania. (It is also the name of her cat.) I am borrowing it as a Wakandan slang word with a similar meaning.


	3. Nice and Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is my Valentine to you all since I love my readers!

 

 

 

_Let’s take it nice and easy_

_It’s gonna be so easy_

_For us to fall in love._

_Hey, baby, what’s your hurry?_

_Relax and don’t you worry._

_We’re gonna fall in love._

_We’re on the road to romance, that’s safe to say_

_But let’s make all the stops along the way._

_The problem now of course_

_Is to simply to hold your horses._

_To rush would be a crime_

_‘Cause nice and easy does it every time._

 

 

 

 

 

The girls assemble. Two of them are quite young, barely out of their teens, while the others are in their thirties and forties. They study hard and practice often, sometimes hours a day. The nation of Wakanda does not house many mutants and these four are the only telepaths in the kingdom, at least according to Cerebro. Faithful subjects and women of high integrity, they somehow belong more to Zaara than Wakanda. Their psychic intimacy and knowledge of the human mind set them apart from their fellow citizens and Zaara’s spent the past six weeks training them to the best of her ability, though none registers above a class two. One has the potential to become a class three, however, and Zaara is keeping a careful eye on her in the hope that she will blossom. They serve T’Challa, stay close to the throne, and do the best they can. King T’Chaka made this arrangement long ago and they are now in the fourth year of their formal studies, having visited the Xaviar School on several occasions to train with their teacher.

 

They regard Zaara with a small amount of reverence and a great deal of humour and laugh along with her at her many foibles. No one is perfect, after all—not even a class five mutant. Zaara, for the most part, hates being a class five and loathes being different from other mutants; they know this all too well since they read it in her mind each and every day. They even sense her greatest fear (aside from any harm coming to her children): to lose her humanity, which was exactly what happened to another class five mutant, Jean Grey. But it is difficult for the girls to imagine it ever happening to Zaara for they know how much she loves her children, and how deeply she longs to remain human and to live a human life. Zaara makes as many mistakes as the next person and it shows them her humanity is very much intact. But they have never really seen the limits of her powers. As for the threat assessment of strangers and any other sort of challenge their work requires, Zaara has never let them down. Their lives have been transformed by her tutelage and they’ve been given the opportunity to travel and learn more of the world than most Wakandans. Plus, they love working at the palace.

 

So, when they arrive in T’Challa’s ready room, they are surprised to sense their teacher feeling so perturbed. Indeed, she is positively distressed.

 

“Come in, girls,” Zaara says weakly. A tall, strapping man stands next to her and smiles at them shyly. He is terribly handsome and not one of them fails to notice it.

 

“Hello, ladies. I’m Steve.” He greets them in his friendly way, shaking each of their hands in turn and blushing all the while. He can’t remember the last time he has been surrounded by so many women. _Probably not since I was in the USO. But these ladies must be telepaths,_ he guesses since his sharp instincts tell him they communicate silently amongst themselves. He cannot quell his wild hope that whatever happens next, it will bring him closer to getting Bucky back.

 

“Otherwise known as Captain America,” T’Challa announces proudly. “But I didn’t need to tell any of you that. Did I?”

 

The women cluster together in telepathic conference, quite confused.

 

“Let’s not be rude, girls,” Zaara gently chastises them. “You can say it out loud.”

 

“We can’t read him. None of us can,” Beor-Za, the eldest, complains. “Why did your Majesty summon us if Ms. Xaviar cannot read him? We have not the skill.”

 

He shrugs. “I wanted to check. Just to be sure.”

 

The women smile at each other, knowingly. _He wants an audience_. T’Challa truly is a rascal at heart.

 

“I see,” Beor-Za continues to speak for them.

 

“Thanks, girls,” Zaara says humbly. “Our lesson today is how to read the unreadable.”

 

“And have you ever encountered such a mutant before?” Talza, the youngest, asks. She’s intrigued. The Captain is most handsome, his body powerful, his mind utterly impenetrable. Of the four of them, she is the only one with the ability to detect the gifts of each mutant and indeed the powers possessed by any enhanced individual. But his mental shield baffles her as much as it does Zaara. If she had to put it into words, she would call it a whole lot of stubborn.

 

“He’s no mutant,” Zaara corrects her. “If I recall my history, he is actually a mutate.”

 

Steve seems startled. “A mutate?”

 

“Your powers, or enhancements, came from science. Is that correct?” Zaara asks rather formally.

 

“Yes,” he practically sputters, disturbed by the freakish sound of the word. “Dr. Erskine. In the lab.”

 

“So you were not born with them,” Beor-za confirms. “You were changed. That makes you a mutate.”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Zaara gently interjects. “These labels are only technicalities. But I think he gets the idea, girls.”

 

“About what?” Steve asks, his curiosity making him even more nervous. Combined with the attraction he feels for Zaara, he’s getting a serious case of the jitters. It’s a real thrill to find someone who might actually be able to help Bucky so he’ll do anything she asks of him. Anything.

 

“Your mental shield,” Talza informs him. “May I?”

 

Steve nods in confusion and she comes closer to touch his cheek. Her fingers are soft, but he feels no electricity from the contact. “I sense it. Quite strong.”

 

Beor-za sniffles. “So what do we do about it? How do we read him?”

 

“I’m open to suggestion,” Zaara smiles, her fears diminishing. The girls have been nothing but kind to her and it feels right to make this a team effort. “This is going to be a collaboration. Any ideas?”

 

“Try again,” suggests T’Chota, the quiet one who also happens to be a distant cousin of the king.

 

“I’ve tried three times already,” Zaara shrugs. “I can do it again if you like, but I don’t know what difference it’ll make.”

 

“But you must try again,” T’Chota insists, gently encouraging her. Her gift differs somewhat from the others. She is most adept at reading feelings as they are expressed through the body as opposed to the mind. Still, it is a psionic gift and of very little use to her now with the Captain and that shield of his. All she can tell is that he means them no harm and, thanks to a little bit of women’s intuition, she also senses his fondness for Zaara.

 

Zaara nods. “Thanks, T’Chota. Is that alright with you?”

 

“Yeah. Sure,” Steve smiles shyly. Suddenly, all of the girls can see what T’Chota sees.

 

 _You don’t need to be a telepath to read that,_ Beor-za grins wryly. The man’s body is full of desire and the object of that desire just happens to be Zaara herself. It’s the way he looks at her, eyelids drooping, a faint pink blush on his cheeks, and how he keeps his body angled towards hers no matter where she moves. Each time she looks his way, his lips quiver slightly and there is longing in his eyes.

 

 _Hush,_ Zaara admonishes them, blushing. _Class five mutants don’t date._

 

 _How many times do we have to hear that, dearie?_ Talza giggles. _You can’t fool a mindreader._

 

Zaara heaves a sigh and stops short of clicking her teeth at them, a habit she picked up during the weeks she has spent in Wakanda. She moves closer to Steve, acting bolder than she feels. “Make yourself comfortable, Captain,” she instructs him in her most professional manner.

 

“I’m fine right where I am,” he replies, her closeness bringing a delightful burning sensation in his chest that does not go unnoticed by T’Chota. “And, please—call me Steve.”

 

“Alright,” she sighs impatiently before placing her hands upon his forehead. She prefers to use his formal title since it grants her some distance from him and makes her job a tiny bit easier, but she surrenders. “ . . . Steve.”

                                                                                                                                                           

They stand face to face for quite some time. His body tingles and his cheeks flush pink. Ignoring the way her blood suddenly pumps faster through her veins, Zaara squeezes her eyes shut and presses her fingers against his brow for some minutes. All too soon, she drops her hands down to her sides in despair.  _Damnit. Nothing. Sorry, girls._

 

“What’s wrong?” T’Challa asks with genuine curiosity. “Can’t you try harder?”

 

 “If she wanted to kill him, Kajanja,” Beor-za gently scolds, the only one who would dare speak so openly against the King. “The next step up is a level three psi-blast.”

 

T’Challa raises his eyebrows at her but remains silent in deference to his father. T’Chaka had been fondest of Beor-za.

  

“Good work, Be,” Zaara grins at her. “You’ve been practicing.”

 

Indeed, Beor-za is the hardest worker of them all. Before Zaara sought her out, she lived her life as a humble maid, but she has always had an excellent work ethic. Her mutation barely placed her above a level one when they first met, but with great effort and the benefits of Zaara’s training, she has come closest to a level three out of all of them. She has the potential to influence minds and can read most of them quite well as it is. Her age and experience prevent her from being in awe of the new King and, indeed, she cannot take this young man too seriously after four years of working closely with his distinguished father.

  

“I wonder what else we could do . . .” Tsi Tsi muses, rubbing her chin. She is the most original thinker of the bunch and studies human genetics part-time at the university. Always curious and willing to push the boundaries of knowledge, an idea occurs to her. “Perhaps all of us could touch him at the same time and see what happens?”

 

“Very creative,” Zaara nods. “I never thought of that before,  though it’s not how telepathy normally works. But maybe it’s worth a try?”

 

“Zaara,” T’Chota interrupts. “Your daughter has an idea.”

 

Steve starts in surprise as a wild-haired girl dashes out from underneath the couch, her sheer beauty making him gasp. She seems a mirror image of her mother though her hair is rather darker with hints of black, her eyes a glittering aqua blue. He’s not sure if he’s ever seen a lovelier child.

 

“Ellie!” Zaara scolds, furious. Not only did the girl mask her presence to her mother, she kept her scent hidden from Steve.

 

The child laughs with glee. “I fooled you, Mama! I did! T’Challa knew I was here all the time!”

 

The King smiles inscrutably.

 

“Ellie, I’m working,” Zaara hisses, furious. “Go back to the suite. Where’s your tutor, anyways?”

 

“Didn’t I fool you, Mama?” the girl laughs, ignoring her words. “I fooled all of you—except T’Challa and T’Chota!”

 

“That’s King T’Challa to you, Ellie,” Zaara corrects her, getting angrier. “Now, GO.” She slaps her hand on her forehead with embarrassment.

 

“But I fooled you!” the girl continues to laugh.

  

“Yes, you fooled me,” her mother admits, clenching her jaw and her fists. “Now, will you please go?”

  

“But Mama! Go in through his heart, Mama!” the girl laughs. “Talza knows.”

 

“Yes, dearest,” Talza laughs with her. “You gave me the idea.”

 

“I gave you the idea,” Ellie agrees, proudly.

 

“Your daughter will be quite a telepath someday. Like her mother,” Beor-za nods, amused despite her own innate tendency towards strictness. The girl is young, wild, and free. _The way all little girls ought to be._

 

Zaara sighs, resigned. “Alright, alright. I’ll try. Now, little girl—go home. And stop running away from your tutor. If you want me to bring you back to Wakanda, you’ve got to follow our routine.”

 

“Okay, Mama,” the ebullient child gives in. She spares a glance at Steve and he quickly gains her approval. She has not been able to play with the men in the palace very much. It is a more formal life here, quite different from home where Bobby and Peter toss her around like a ragdoll. She misses them and wonders whether this man, whom her Mama likes very much, would do the same. She approves of the kind look in his eyes and his tall figure—he seems big enough to throw her high in the air the way she likes. She hopes Mama will figure out how to read him so she will be allowed to play with him later. “Will you tell me what happens, Mama? Promise, promise?”

  

“Yes, yes, yes, Ellie,” Zaara heaves another impatient sigh, anxious to get her daughter out of the room. It vexes her terribly whenever Ellie interferes with her work. “Now--off you go!”

  

“Okay!” Ellie shrieks in a high pitch that makes everyone in the room jump except T’Challa, who suppresses his laughter with a wicked poker face. She runs off, pell-mell, and Zaara prays she won’t crash into anyone in the hallway. With her daughter gone, Zaara takes a deep breath and attempts to regain control of the situation. “Alright. Now, let’s—“

 

But a whoosh of laughter and pounding feet interrupt her yet again and the girlish whirlwind of wild hair returns. “Just a minute, Mama! I forgot Pinkie Pie!”

  

Steve gasps, the child taking him by surprise yet again despite his enhanced senses. _She’s really something else._ The girl called Ellie literally dives under the couch so fast he’s afraid she might hit her head, but in the next moment she’s out again and holding a bright pink doll that resembles some strange looking four-legged creature.

 

Zaara grits her teeth and raises her eyes to heaven. The girls adore Ellie but they don’t have to live with her crazy ways. Zaara loves her daughter in all her wildness, her innocent wit, and imagination. But sometimes, she really tires her out.

 

Ellie launches herself into the hallway to the scream of one of the palace maids and Zaara slaps her hand on her forehead. Again.

 

The girls cackle softly and T’Challa’s grin stretches from ear to ear. It feels wonderful to smile again. The past few weeks have been rough and he wears the traditional Wakandan sash to indicate he is still in official mourning for his father and will continue to be for quite some time. But Ellie lifts his spirits and warms his heart, her undisciplined ways a refreshing contrast to the more solemn manner in which Wakandans raise their children.

 

Steve, for his part, gazes at Zaara in wonder. He never dreamt she was a parent, though he could not say she appears too young for it. In his day, it was not unusual for teenagers to become parents. Still, Zaara’s not the sort of dame he’d peg as a mother, even though he barely knows her as anything more than his kidnapper. Not that being a mother makes her any less attractive, but he knows he can’t assume anything about her now. She seems to be a single mother for he can see no ring upon her finger. But who was Ellie’s father? He figures if all goes well, he’ll have the chance to find out.

 

“Okay,” Zaara breathes and wipes off the sweat that suddenly appeared on her brow. “Let’s try the heart.”

  

Steve is uncertain as Zaara approaches him, but he knows it’s his best chance to help Bucky. Hell, he’d do anything to have his friend back so he’s willing to go along with whatever she asks of him no matter how crazy it sounds. “Alright. What do we do?”

  

“We need skin contact,” she says softly. Shyly.

 

The girls try to stop themselves, but a faint titter reaches his ears anyways. “Uh huh,” Steve nods, not understanding.

 

“Your shirt. You need to take it off,” Zaara raises her eyebrows at him, embarrassed. She can’t help it. Steve is just a gorgeous man. She’s been exposed to those rippling muscles for half a day now, reading all the incredible energy that rushes and flows through them. A life force of vast strength and power is contained within that bulk and magnitude and now, she will have to touch it, or at least the broad and bulging pectorals that house his heart.

  

“Oh . . .” Steve starts to clue in. He hesitates and glances at T’Challa, who is still enjoying this entire situation far too much for his own good.

 

“Well, Captain,” T’Challa nods, smirking. He is having an absolutely fantastic day. “Do not keep the ladies waiting.”

 

Steve regards his t-shirt with hesitation. “Um, alright.”

  

“Well,” Zaara mumbles after watching him a moment, still embarrassed. “You don’t have to take the whole thing off. I suppose you could just roll it up.”

 

“Nah,” Steve demurs. He tries to act as if he doesn’t care when he slips it over his head. It seems better to pull it off in one quick motion instead of just hiking it up. He remembers what it was like in the lab when the nurses would examine his nearly naked body and take readings with all kinds of medical devices and jab at him with long needles. It never felt the least bit exciting or awkward to him after the change. He hopes it will feel that way now, clinical and clean, as if he is just another lab rat, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. A rosy red blush travels leisurely down his cheeks to the bottom of his torso and disappears below his belt.

 

“Alright,” Zaara whispers and comes closer. _Just relax, just keep calm, it will all be fine._ Her hands tremble against her will but she places them deliberately upon his magnificent chest anyways. His skin is smooth and warm, and when she gently presses against his rock hard muscles, an involuntary heat coils up deep and sexy inside her.

  

 _Concentrate, girl,_ Beor-za scolds.

 

 _I’m trying,_ she groans in her mind. _It’s not every day I have to touch a half-naked man._

 

 _You mean a half-naked hunk of a man,_ T’Chota casts her eyes down and covers her mouth to suppress another giggle.

 

 _Yeah, that,_ Zaara admits.

 

 _So much for class 5 mutants not dating anybody,_ Talza smirks.

 

 _Hey, ladies. Something’s happening . . ._ Zaara drops the fun and gets serious, observing her own work with wonder. Sometimes, her powers astonish even her. She doesn’t know how she does it or what makes it happen, but tiny sparks of light start to flow from Steve’s chest. Ellie was right: Steve’s heart is giving her an entrance.

                                                                                                                                                                 

He barely dares to breathe and he certainly doesn’t move. He can tell she’s concentrating hard. He’s too scared to take in the awestruck faces all around him, some of which sport gently teasing expressions. But the sparkles emerging from his chest and floating around in the air amaze him.

 

They seem to take Zaara’s breath away, as well. “Don’t be afraid,” she whispers.

  

Steve nods slightly, but cannot calm his nerves. The electric feeling of Zaara’s hands upon his bare chest is thrilling enough on its own, but to see some kind of energy in the form of little glowing magic lights leave his body and swirl between them is a strange experience, to say the least. The world never stops surprising him.

  

“Hold on,” Zaara urges, her own nervousness betraying her. “I got this.” The sparkles churn and flutter, rise upwards and form some kind of vortex before they settle down lower, right in front of her eyes. There they take shape, morphing and funneling until they thicken and nearly solidify. Now, Zaara can make out a face--a slender, fine-boned face that stares directly into her own. Her breath hitches.

 

It has a mind, and she can read it. Ellie was definitely right.

  

“Don’t be afraid,” she repeats before taking her hands off the muscular chest and placing them upon the brow of the slender, glittering man who stands before her. His face is fine-boned and sensitive. A rush of protectiveness washes over her. “I won’t hurt you.”

  

His eyes blink as if he understands.

 

Her heart aches as she gazes upon the body of the original Steve Rogers. Dimly, she recalls the story of the sickly young man who was transformed into the perfect supersoldier. She smiles a little, realizing she _likes_ the way he used to look. _Quite handsome, actually. He seems gentle and friendly, even kind._ But all too soon, his past reveals itself and takes over. Immediately, she calls out to the girls.

 

  _I’m in._

 

All four telepaths see what Zaara sees now. It’s hectic, a whirlwind of images from recent events in the life of Steve Rogers and everything flows backwards. Riveted, the telepaths watch it all, something of a captive audience.

  

_Zaara, kidnapping Steve from the café . . . Bucky submitting himself to the chamber of ice . . . Two best friends fleeing Siberia with T’Challa in the guise of the Black Panther. . .  The horrendous brawl with Iron Man at the compound of dead winter soldiers . . . The Avengers fighting each other at the airport in Leipzig . . . The explosion in Lagos . . . Sokovia falling from the sky . . . The Triskelion crumbling into the Potomac . . . The desperate battle against aliens in New York._

 

But the visions do not stop there—relentless, inexorable, they flow back through years long past, a dizzying, rushing river that spills into Steve’s last moments as he plunges the Valkyrie into the ice. And still they do not stop; they hurtle back through the haze of the second world war with flashes of the Howling Commandos on mission after mission, shell shocked memories of combat, the destruction of Hydra bases, Bucky’s fall from the train, and even back to Brooklyn and the agony of his physical transformation in Erskine’s laboratory.

 

It is too much. The telepaths clutch their heads in their hands as if they would shake the images from their minds. They cannot endure it. Zaara promptly blocks the girls out now, realizing this reading is going too far and too deep. But she can’t stop it. It’s like some kind of freight train propelling her backwards through Steve's mind and she can’t stop it and she can’t get off. A teenage Steve mourns the death of his mother and she experiences his agony at that primal loss before she sees an even younger Steve, tackling bullies in the schoolyard with his best friend Bucky Barnes and, finally, all the way back to his earliest childhood memory: the sunlit warmth of Sarah Rogers’ smile _._ But the images abruptly dissolve and, suddenly, she finds herself swimming in the ocean of his unconscious, the feelings and emotions that shift and swirl and coalesce to form the man who is Steve Rogers right now, in this living moment--the man who stands before her tall and strong.

  

 _Wow,_ she marvels to herself as the wild ride finally grinds to a halt, still blocking the girls from his mind. _I had no idea. He’s . . . he’s everything. Strong. Selfless. Resilient. Loyal. Brave. The kind of man you fall in love with._

 

Zaara rarely performs readings as deep as this and, indeed, it is mostly unintentional and completely accidental—she’s using far too much energy not knowing that, in this form, Steve is practically defenseless. It is a massive invasion of privacy on her part for now she can see this man from the inside out in stunning detail and it is intimate, wondrous, breathtaking, and humbling. It occurs to her that with everything he has been through, his backbone might well be made of vibranium. _Or even adamantium_.

 

Although they are blocked out, the girls can tell Zaara’s fate is signed, sealed, and delivered. They glance at each other knowingly, but she takes no notice.

  

She is drowning in a sea of Steve.

  

 _What a man._ Her heart burns as it reads his courage, his kindness, his determination to go on no matter what life throws in his way and his unwavering devotion to doing what is right. He never takes the easy way out. His willingness to sacrifice his own life and to never give up; it all leaves her awestruck. And, most thrilling of all, _he likes her—a lot._

  

 _Definitely Steve Rogers,_ Zaara nods at her girls now, reaching out to them again.

 

Steve has never felt more helpless in his life, except perhaps for the time he lost Bucky. He can’t move, some part of his soul is being drawn out of his body, and Zaara and her team of telepaths are reading him, reading his entire life for all he can tell. But he submits. He does it for Bucky, for the chance they might be able to help him. He’d do anything for Bucky _. ‘Til the end of the line_. Yet, some part of him feels afraid, indeed, quite terrified of it all and, before anyone can register it, the sparkling vision of a young Steve Rogers vanishes into thin air.

 

And, with a dull thud, Zaara crumples to the floor.

 

“Zaara!” he shouts, and even he is not fast enough to catch her. She falls backwards and hits her head, though his arms partly cushion the blow. In a flash, T’Challa is at her side and the girls surround them, cooing and huffing.

  

“She's alright, she’s alright,” Beor-za insists, reading Zaara the whole while. The girl is scared. And angry.

  

Zaara’s eyes open and she grimaces in pain. Steve picks her up off the floor and though she tries to swat him away, it is to no avail. He brings her to her feet. “Damnit,” she pants, clutching her head while trapped in his arms. “You sucker-punched me.”

  

“What?” Steve is positively horrified, and his arms, still holding her up, almost manage to drop her again.

  

“A psi-blast?” T-Challa guesses.

  

“That’s right,” T’Chota confirms. “Very good, your Majesty.”

  

“Level two?” the king guesses.

  

“It would have been a level one if he let me get up by myself,” Zaara snaps grouchily, still rubbing her head.

 

“What happened?” Steve begs, not understanding any of it. “Did I hurt you? I’m sorry!”

  

Zaara shakes her head ruefully. “You psi-blasted me. And you don’t even know you did it. We’re going to have to study that mental shield of yours very, very carefully.”

  

“Sorry,” Steve whispers, jaw dropping in horror.

 

“It’s alright, Steve,” Zaara mutters sarcastically before gaining hold of herself. She actually smiles, realizing it _is_ sort of funny. His goodness and courage amaze her. The girls confirm it. _He’s a hell of a man. Go for it, girl._ But she brushes their thoughts aside and chooses to bathe, for the briefest moment, in his attraction to her, and then, in his potent love for his best friend. 

 

_Bucky, Bucky Barnes._

 

_The Winter Soldier._

 

She swallows and steadies herself before meeting his eyes. “And of course I’ll help Bucky.”

  

Steve catches his breath, reddening. “What did you say?”

 

Still trapped in his strong embrace, she speaks softly. Gently. “I said I’ll help Bucky. I’ll do everything I can for him. You can let me go, now.”

  

Steve’s heart does acrobatic flips. Warmth comes back and fills his chest, spreads all over his body. With great reluctance, he releases her.

 

“Then you confirm this man really is Captain America?” T’Challa queries mischievously.

 

“Yes,” Zaara nods soberly. Humbly. “He is.”

  

The girls dismiss themselves, murmuring their approval. Zaara nods appreciatively at them and they grin back at her.

 

_Thank Ellie. It was her idea._

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

When the girls leave, T’Challa brings Steve and Zaara to his personal office. It is in Wakanda’s interest to record everything about Captain America and the Winter Soldier while they reside in his country, so the new king makes a note in his private log. The lesson today was a success in more ways than one. T’Challa’s no fool; he knows very well that the girl is falling for the Captain. He wonders how he can use it to his advantage, but files the question away for later. It would not do for Zaara to read that particular thought and he is grateful she seems distracted. She does not make a habit of reading his mind too carefully these days since he is still in mourning for his father and she has her own grief to process. He knows it’s a heavy burden for her to bear, to see his suffering, and one she’d prefer to avoid. Besides, she does not make a habit of reading minds without permission. She was quite fond of T’Chaka. But the new king will press his advantage over her at every opportunity and she knows it, too.

 

Zaara can only blink and marvel at the events of this day. Steve’s mind, so stoic and courageous, has taken her quite by surprise and it makes her feel all the worse for having made him her prisoner. She never quite figured out how to remain graceful in the face of public humiliation, but at least her girls have been kind to her. They do not judge her or blame her for the rather inappropriate feelings burning inside of her. The Captain intrigues her—too much. He has a girlfriend, after all, the blonde woman called Agent 13. The girls saw it, too, and light teasing is their way. Not so T’Challa.

  

But she is far too enamored with Steve to worry much about it. It melts her heart to contemplate his devotion to Bucky Barnes, the so-called Winter Soldier. Steve’s put himself in the line of fire too often, shown himself all too willing to die time and again for his friend. The most recent beating he took from Tony Stark and his willingness to lay down his shield testify to his strength of character. Love, friendship, and the needs of others come first for this man and Zaara respects that. In fact, she adores it. She knows she can trust Steve with her life. And, more importantly, with her children. Compassion burns in her heart. “We should get started soon.”

 

“Soon?” Steve is surprised. It’s been a long, crazy day. He hasn’t dealt much with telepaths before—only Wanda, really. And he’s not entirely sure Wanda really is a telepath at all after what he’s seen today. Zaara and her girls seem utterly different from his inexperienced pupil. Zaara did not alter his mind and had to go through a great deal of effort to read him while Wanda dived right in and manipulated him, as if in a dream. _But Zaara’s no dream. She’s real._

 

“I can’t bear to think of him lying there, frozen in ice,” she murmurs to herself, jarring him from his reverie before turning to T’Challa, a question on her lips. “How long will it take to wake him up?”

 

“We’re not sure given his enhancements,” T’Challa muses, relieved to shake off his earlier train of thought. The Winter Soldier becomes his main concern now. “The doctors said, however, that they will have to thaw him swiftly when the time comes, in order to avoid tissue damage. Freezing water forms crystals almost immediately.”

 

“I want to see him right away. We’ll ask the doctors,” she replies, rubbing her head. It still hurts.

 

Steve notices and feels just awful. _They called it a psi-blast. And she hit her head on the floor to boot._ “It’s nearly six o’clock,” he points out, thinking she needs rest and wondering whether she has a concussion. She looks as if she is in some pain, but excitement pulses through his veins anyways. “And maybe you should see a doctor about that bump on your head.”

 

“Ugh, I’m fine. And it’s dinnertime. Tomorrow, then. First thing,” Zaara nods, still rubbing her head. _He’s putting me ahead of himself. No surprise there._ “Maybe I can read Bucky while he’s still in the ice then, figure out how best to help him when he wakes.”

 

“It took me about 48 hours to wake up,” Steve offers. “That is, after they defrosted me.”

  

“Alright,” Zaara nods, knowing how painful the memory is for him. Steve has no clue what drugs they pumped him full of when he came out, but at least he made a full recovery. _But this time, Bucky is going to receive the very best of care_. “We’ll start tomorrow. I’ll stay with him the whole time.”

  

Steve nods back, disbelieving. Finally, after all these years, Bucky is getting a break. Joy pours over his body and he hardly dares believe it. _Where did she come from? She’s gotta be heaven sent._

  

“I know you barely know me,” Zaara’s voice trembles as she realizes she will have to tether Bucky to her own consciousness for safety reasons. _I wonder how that’ll go over?_ “You don’t have a lot of reasons to trust me.”

 

“Actually,” Steve counters, glancing at T’Challa. “I do.”

 

“You’re too kind,” she raises her eyebrows and sighs, shame still weighing on her for having kidnapped him. “Let’s meet for breakfast early in the morning. I think we all need a chance to recover. It’s been an eventful day. Then we’ll see about Bucky.”

 

Steve nods, hoping not to appear too excited. Not only does he get to help Bucky, he gets to spend more time with Zaara. And he would like that. Very much.

 

“Ms. Xaviar,” T’Challa’s tone becomes quite serious. “If we are to wake the Winter Soldier, I need your assurance that the full responsibility for the safety of Wakanda rests upon your shoulders.”

 

“It won’t be a problem,” Zaara waves him off. “You know I’ve handled worse.”

 

Steve’s eyebrows rise with incredulity before he can stop them. “Zaara? Are you really sure about this?”

  

Zaara laughs and winks at T’Challa. “He clearly has no idea what I do for a living.”

 

“I’ll do anything I can to help you,” Steve vows, still not understanding. “I’m not gonna leave his side.”

 

“And you do owe Sergeant Barnes, your Highness,” Zaara chides T’Challa discreetly. “You know—for trying to kill him.”

  

T’Challa demurs. “I assume you will be extending your visit with us, Ms. Xaviar.”

 

“Actually, I plan to stay on schedule,” her eyes remain fixed on Steve. “I can work with Sergeant Barnes and use our sessions to train the girls, with Steve’s permission of course. It’s quite a learning opportunity for them. And I’ll bring him home with us in two weeks’ time.”

 

“Home?” Steve asks in surprise. “Where’s that?”

 

Zaara smiles. “Westchester. New York.”

 

Steve gulps. “That’s not far from the Avengers compound.”

 

“I know,” she suppresses a giggle. “Rogue baked a batch of cookies and dropped them off there a few months ago when you all moved in. She likes to be a good neighbor. She left them with Sam Wilson.”

 

“Sam?” Steve widens his eyes, surprised to hear his friend’s name.

 

“Yeah,” she lets herself laugh now. “He must have eaten them all. Don’t worry. We’ll pick up your friends in the Raft on our way home.”

 

Steve’s jaw drops without him noticing.

 

“You know, I’ve never gone on a prison break, before,” Zaara rubs her chin thoughtfully, mulling it over. “What _does_ one wear?”

 

“I am sure you’ll figure it out,” T’Challa smirks wryly.

 

Zaara nods at him. “Tomorrow then, Captain,” she says quietly, a mischievous look in her eye.

 

“Call me Steve,” he replies, stunned.

 

“Steve,” she murmurs, restraining the smile upon her lips before heading out the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow. T’Challa.”

 

“Ms. Xaviar,” T’Challa nods back.

 

“Tomorrow,” Steve murmurs softly to himself.

 

After she leaves, T’Challa indulges in a good, long chuckle. “Well. What did you think of all that, Captain?”

 

Steve shakes his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe I found someone who can help Bucky. That’s all that matters.” He considers it a moment. “Why didn’t you tell me about her before?”

 

“It was not my place,” T’Challa shrugs apologetically. “Ms. Xaviar is here by order of my father. Now that he is gone, I will reconsider many of his policies.”

 

“So, she’s not a citizen?” Steve asks casually, trying not to appear nosy.

 

“No,” T’Challa confirms. “But he made her an honorary member of the court. In fact, he gifted her with many things. Perhaps, too many.”

 

Steve resists prying, though it is not easy for him. “But you trust her, don’t you?”

 

T’Challa presses his lips together. “Ms. Xaviar is entirely too trustworthy, in my opinion. I wish you luck with her, Captain. I’ll see you in the morning."

 

 

 

 

 


	4. The Sunny Side of the Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing can be such a lonely thing to do, so I am sharing another chapter with you ;-)  
> Happy weekend!

 

 

 

 

 

_Grab your coat and get your hat_

_Leave your worry on the doorstep_

_Just direct your feet_

_To the sunny side of the street._

_Can’t you hear that pitter-pat?_

_What a happy tune is your tune_

_Life can be so sweet_

_On the sunny side of the street._

_I used to walk in the shade_

_With my blues on parade_

_But now I’m not afraid_

_Trouble’s over, I’ve crossed over._

_If I never have a cent_

_I’ll be rich as Rockefeller_

_Gold dust at my feet_

_On the sunny side of the street._

 

 

 

 

Light streams through the cathedral-sized windows, and the rays of the early morning sun illuminate the vast enclave that is the palace dining hall in Wakanda. The rays spread across the table setting and onto the faces of the many servants who move in and out of the grand hall, but they also touch the visage of a man who happens to be the only person seated there at the moment. He does not look up towards the beauty of the sunshine or at the exotic blossoms that grace his place setting. He simply stares at the floor.

 

Steve Rogers sits alone at the long, formal table, biding his time. He has not taken any meals here before and feels terribly uncomfortable having so many servants wait on him. It’s too formal for his taste and more than a little awkward. The attention is wholly unnecessary (he hates to have anyone make a fuss over him) and he sips his coffee slowly, worrying that Zaara will fail to show up, that everything that happened yesterday was just a dream. He has been waiting almost an hour now and it would be all too typical if his miracle, his chance to help Bucky, vanishes into thin air. He’s so used to having things go wrong he can’t help but be skeptical when they finally seem to go right.

 

His thoughts careen between the wild hope of getting Bucky back and the euphoria of being close to the woman named Zaara; part of him stubbornly longs for the feel of her touch on his skin, the scent of her body, the sound of her laugh. It was real—all of it. He cannot doubt his feelings for her, that deep, undeniable instinct to believe the look of trust in her eyes. With a small grin, he recalls the embarrassment on her face when she realized she’d kidnapped Captain America. _Maybe that’s it. T’Challa gave her a hard time. I should have gone easier on her. Could I have made her feel any worse about the way it all went down?_

He spent a long and restless night with a thrill of anticipation coiling in the pit of his stomach, dreaming of her fingers tracing the ridges of his face while her sweet, tentative eyes locked themselves on his. It made his mind go places he wasn’t sure about, wasn’t ready for, and he found himself wondering what it would feel like to kiss her, run his hands all over the curves he had spent the better part of a day gazing upon. How different she seemed now from when he first saw her in that café, her eyes so full of revulsion. But even then, he found her beautiful. What an incredible sense of relief to have her on his side—and Bucky’s. Still, he’s nervous. He’s been sitting alone for quite a while now, waiting.

 

Suddenly, Zaara bursts into the room in a manner not unlike her whirlwind of a daughter, putting his worries firmly to rest. She practically throws herself onto the seat beside him, panting. “I’m so sorry,” she apologizes, her face red, and he wonders if she will ever stop feeling embarrassed in his presence. “Ellie left a tube of toothpaste on the floor. I stepped on it and it squirted all over the place and I just about cracked my skull on the sink so I had to go change my clothes. Do you have all that marble in your bathroom? It’s so slippery and hard to clean, I couldn’t even wipe the damned toothpaste off it—it just smeared all over the place. And someone’d stuffed a whole roll of paper in the pot and I’m terrible at unclogging toilets, even with telekinesis, because you’re never sure how much pressure to use and I’d hate to damage the plumbing system in the palace. T’Challa’s been so good to us, even when Ellie scribbled on the walls in the throne room, and . . .”

 

Steve watches her, fascinated. The redness in her cheeks and her shortness of breath distracts him from her lengthy and rapid narrative, so he just smiles and pretends he’s following along.

 

“Sorry,” she laughs now, shaking her head. “It’s not anything you want to hear about. I’m always one clogged toilet away from being late.”

 

“Or one spilled tube of toothpaste,” he replies in amusement. “How’s your head doing?”

 

“Better,” she admits and unwittingly rubs it again. He notices.

 

“I’m sorry about that,” he frowns, uncertain. He feels terrible to have hurt her.

 

“It’s alright,” she shrugs nonchalantly. “Nothing a little Tylenol can’t take care of.”

 

“Good,” he sighs with relief. “I was worried.”

 

She looks away. He makes her feel so warm inside and she has to ignore that exquisite rush deep down in her belly. “So . . . About Bucky.”

 

“Bucky,” Steve repeats softly, his mind returning to his friend. The feelings pour through him again and they make an odd mixture—it’s the thrill of finding someone who can help and the sadness for everything that’s happened to him.

 

“You need to know you can trust me,” Zaara meets his eyes fully now, stares into them deep while he all but drowns in her effervescence, the exquisite energy that swims and swirls between them. He can feel it whenever she comes close and so can she, but she battens down the hatches since she has a job to do. Last night, she decided to treat the Captain just like any other mutant she has counseled over the years. A foundation of trust makes the best start and that requires some objectivity. _And with any luck, it might make all these crazy feelings go away._ “You’re probably wondering what I do for a living.” She eyes the fresh, hot cup of coffee being poured before her, a welcome distraction from his soft baby blues.

 

Steve nods patiently while she savours a sip. His eyes linger longingly on her pink lips when they part to clasp the rim of the mug. He really can’t help himself and feels grateful she is unable to read his mind at the moment since he finds it so difficult to reconcile the attraction he feels for her with his overwhelming need to help Bucky. Bucky comes first, but his body won’t stop calling to him. It’s a most exquisite dilemma.

 

“I work at a school—for people like me. We’re called mutants,” she begins reluctantly, not wanting to bombard him with information.

 

“Mutants?” This is only the second time he’s heard the term.

 

“We’re a bit like inhumans, I suppose,” she muses. “But we’re not from outer space. We’re born this way. A genetic mutation called the mutant X gene makes us just a little bit different from the rest of people. But we’re still human beings.”

 

Steve swallows and nods. Nothing should shock him anymore, but it’s a lot to take in. “Who else knows about you?”

 

“Not many. A mutant’s first defense is anonymity. Our mutations reveal themselves at puberty. One of my jobs is to find young mutants and help them . . . adjust.” How she wishes she could read his mind in the present moment, hoping he will understand. _He ought to. He has a big heart for anyone who doesn’t fit in._

 

Steve looks worried and glances around the hall at the staff. “Anonymity?”

 

Zaara nods. “Don’t worry—the staff here is trustworthy, but I’m blocking our conversation from their minds anyways. They think we’re talking about the weather.”

 

Steve’s eyes widen. Despite everything that happened yesterday, he is still not used to her powers. They’re really quite impressive. _Telepathy and telekinesis, something like Wanda—that explains how she got me to follow her yesterday._ He readies himself for more. “Alright. So, the mutants—how do you do help them adjust?”

 

“We invite them to the school,” she continues. “We teach them what it means to be a mutant, that we’re not alone in the world. We help them understand their powers and learn how to use them safely and responsibly. Then, we offer them a place at the school so they can continue their education in a supportive environment.”

 

“Are they all like you, with telepathy and telekinesis?” Steve doesn’t want to contemplate all the dangers mutant children must face in this world and shivers, imagining what Secretary Ross would want to do with them.

 

Zaara takes another sip of coffee and shakes her head, smiling. “No. Our mutations express themselves in all kinds of ways. You’ll see, when you come to the school.”

 

“I’m coming with you?” His heart does some somersaults though he tries to contain his excitement. He likes Zaara. A lot. But he would not be parted from Bucky and was afraid she’d expect it of him. He has nowhere else to go, anyways.

 

“I sincerely hope so,” she answers him, amused. “You’re the best chance he’s got. I’ve never had a mutate with someone like you in their corner. Most of them end up alone. He’s very lucky.”

 

“A mutate?” Steve is taken aback.

 

“It’s a general term,” she explains, dismayed to have worried him. “You’re a mutate too, as Beor-za pointed out yesterday. Your genes have been permanently altered by external forces. Plenty of mutants become mutates as well. It can happen by choice or against their will. That’s why the school was founded. We’re a safe place. A haven.”

 

Steve nods silently. He clings to thoughts of Bucky frozen in the ice while they sit and enjoy a hot breakfast in the opulent dining hall. All the luxury of the palace, the grandeur and light that pours through the cathedral windows and French doors, the beauty of this woman and her strange words, makes everything seem unreal. Zaara, sensing his confusion, reaches over the table and puts her hand on top of his.

 

“Let’s focus on Bucky, then,” she says, softly. Touching him is tricky since she feels such an intense physical connection to him. It reminds her of his thoughts back in the hotel room when she had been able to read his longing to caress her so intimately, to kiss her in a way that suggests she belongs to him. But she casts away these thoughts and brings her mind back to his feelings for Bucky, squeezing his hand and longing to reassure him. “I can help him, and so can you. He’s not alone—not anymore. And he never will be again if he lets us take care of him.”

 

“What are you going to do to him?” Steve asks, loving her touch and trying not to feel suspicious of it. But he’s got to be. He has to look out for Bucky and keep him safe. Bucky has no one else.

 

“Protect him, first of all,” Zaara nods, giving his hand another reassuring squeeze before she releases it. Steve wishes she’d keep it there, but her eyes twinkle. “And then, set him free. Bring him back to himself--where he belongs.”

 

Steve lets it sink in for a moment.

 

She studies him carefully before she continues. If Steve won’t give her his trust, she won’t be able to help Bucky. “He needs a safe place where he can heal and put his life back together again. So, when he wakes from the ice, I’ll tether him to me, to my mind.”

 

“And what exactly does that mean?” Steve asks slowly, concentrating.

 

“I’ll connect his mind to my own and it’ll stay that way, day and night. He’ll be tied to my physical body, as well. That way, I can keep him safe from any threats like Hydra, Zemo, or Secretary Ross. I can monitor him, help him through any post traumatic responses he might have, even shield him from nightmares while he sleeps. It’ll give him a chance to heal. He can’t spend his time healing if he’s always on the run.”

 

Steve can’t argue with that, but his confusion only grows. “Secretary Ross?”

 

“Don’t trust him,” Zaara warns. “We can talk about that later. And we’ll need to get Bucky’s permission for things, of course,” she adds. “I don’t want to force him to do anything. Ever. He’s had seventy years of that. But I won’t have a choice about the tether, at first. I’ll have to link to him before he wakes up to keep the Winter Soldier at bay. And we’ll work it out from there. He was willing to go on ice, so I bet he’d agree to be tethered.”

 

“How do you know he’ll be safe with you?” Steve voices his skepticism. “What about your daughter? Will she be safe around him? And the children at the school?”

 

“You mean safe from Hydra,” Zaara points out, frowning. “Bucky’s not responsible for the Winter Soldier. They are.”

 

“Yes,” he agrees soberly. “But how can you keep them all safe? I know you’re a telepath and you have telekinesis, but that’s a tall order.”

 

Zaara sighs in resignation. _Might as well tell him the whole truth._ “Because I’m a class five. There’s still so much you don’t know about us. Besides, I’m a parent. I would never endanger the children.” She wrinkles her nose and gives him a wry grin. “We also have a pretty tough staff at the school. They’ll keep him in line.”

 

“You have a classification?” Steve asks, somewhat alarmed.

 

Zaara unwittingly shifts into lecture mode, realizing Steve won’t let it go. It’s to be expected and she would never want to get in the way of his protective instincts for Bucky--and everyone else. “Class ones carry the mutant X gene. They’re really just squibs, for the most part. They can pass the gene on, but they don’t have any active powers. My girls, whom you met yesterday, are class two’s. They have some active power and can channel it, but only to a limited extent. They can read minds, but they can’t alter them. Class threes have full control and a deeper reservoir of strength. Class fours are like three’s, but with much greater potential. They’re the ones Secretary Ross would be most interested in. That’s why mutants strive to remain anonymous. We’re targets.”

 

“But you’re a five,” Steve points out, a tinge of uncertainty in his voice.

 

“Yes,” she admits reluctantly.

 

“What’s a five?” he asks quietly. The palace staff has finally stopped hovering.

 

“Fives have unlimited powers and are very rare. There’s only been two of us in the world, so far. We’re also called Omega level,” she says softly, looking down at her lap. “My powers are psionic, so they come from my mind. But it’s only a human body.”

 

Steve nods silently. It’s a lot to take in, though he does not fail to remember that, even with all her power, she could not read his mind—not without going through his heart. And even then, he had managed to sucker punch her. He cringes at the memory of it. _She’s still human, after all._ “What will it be like for Bucky? Something like when you, uh, kidnapped me?”

 

Zaara cracks a sheepish grin. “No. Not exactly. I won’t control him telekinetically, not unless the Winter Soldier makes an appearance. But I’ll be there, inside his mind, protecting him from Hydra and some of his worst memories.“ She shrugs. “I protect lots of people. It’s my job. Well, it’s one of my jobs. You’ll just have to trust me on that.”

 

Steve nods, trying not let his jaw drop. “Do you protect Wakanda, too?”

 

She smiles. “Yes, I do. By order of King T’Chaka. But I have a feeling T’Challa will have something to say about that in the near future.”

 

Steve nods absently, stunned by the notion of mutant powers. _Nothing should surprise me anymore. But it does. Class five mutants . . ._

 

“So if you think Bucky’s the first mutate supersoldier I’ve had to deal with, you’re wrong,” she laughs good naturedly.

 

“What?” he asks gruffly, distracted.

 

“Well, I guess that’s a story for another time,” she sighs. _I’ve told him so much already, it’s got to be overwhelming. It’s so hard not knowing what he’s thinking._

 

“Tell me more about this tether,” he asks, wanting to fully understand what Bucky will be getting himself into.

 

“His consciousness will be tied to mine,” she explains. “Every hour of the day. I’ll see his thoughts, I’ll even see his dreams. He probably won’t like it since it’s a massive invasion of privacy. And he’ll definitely get tired of it over time. But it’ll keep him safe.”

 

“And when will you . . . untether him?” he asks pointedly.

 

“When he’s ready,” Zaara says briskly, still wanting to reassure him. “That is, when he’s Bucky Barnes again and has full control over the Winter Soldier—unless we can eliminate the Winter Soldier entirely or whatever mechanism Hydra used to create him. I’m going to build Bucky a shield like yours that’ll keep out telepaths and resist brainwashing. And,” she adds rather forcefully, “after I destroy every single one of those damn rooms where they programmed him.”

 

Steve gulps.

 

“Sorry,” she apologizes for letting her anger get the better of her. “I saw it in your mind, that compound in Siberia. It’s a bit hard to forgive.”

 

He nods solemnly. “I was thinking of doing the same thing myself.”

 

She smiles. “Good. We’re on the same page. So, the tether won’t give him much privacy and he’ll have to get used to that. But I’ll evaluate him first while he’s still unconscious. And we can go from there.”

 

“I have one more question,” Steve asserts, more fearfully than he’d like.

 

“Ask away,” Zaara takes another sip of her coffee, nonplussed.

 

“Why are you doing this?” He feels bad to ask for he really wants to trust her. His gut tells him he can, tells him her heart is in the right place. He really doesn’t want her to feel like she owes him anything. He just needs the truth.

 

The question takes her by surprise, but she knows he has to advocate for Bucky. Indeed, she expected nothing less. As the one who discovered Hydra infiltrating Shield, Steve has every right. “What they did to Bucky . . . represents something that could be done to any of us. To  _all_ of us. Helping him is the right thing to do,” she says thoughtfully. Honestly. “I have these powers, I _can_ help him, so I should. And, beyond that, it’s my job. It’s the whole reason our school exists. Do you think we care about the difference between mutant and mutate when somebody needs our help? That’s not what we’re about.”

 

She pauses a while, considering it further. The point is critical for Steve. She knows how much he’s sacrificed for his friend. Steve won’t let her do her job unless he fully believes in _her._ She looks down in her lap, ashamed of what happened yesterday. “And I’m doing it because you’d do it for us. You already did, Captain.”

 

“You don’t owe me anything,” he reminds her, not trusting the pangs thrumming in his own heart.

 

“I just want to do the right thing,” she repeats quietly, raising her eyes back up to meet his. “I _want_ to help you. That’s what we do at our school. We help each other. We protect each other. We’re family. And we remind each other we’re not alone.”

 

He nods and tries to accept it, humbled. Questions fly through his mind. A class five mutant, with unlimited power. What exactly does that mean? Where was she during the attack on New York? When Hydra launched the helicarriers? When Ultron threatened the earth? But he files them away for later and they spend the next few minutes eating in silence. Zaara barely picks at her food. She explains she was up a couple of hours ago and had already had breakfast.

 

“Plus, I kind of want to watch you eat that entire tray of donuts,” she raises an eyebrow at the glistening stack of Krispy Kremes, wondering how on earth they showed up in Wakanda. “Seeing as how you have that amazing metabolism.”

 

“Well, I guess I could do it,” he smiles back at her. “I’d just hate not to leave any for the next person.”

 

“Another time, then,” she looks away, a mischievous smile upon her lips. “Maybe Ellie and I can bake a few batches of cookies. We’ll see if Bucky can give you a run for your money. He’s enhanced, too, right? We’ll take bets on who can eat more.”

 

“Sounds like a plan,” Steve grins tentatively, liking the way she thinks. He can’t believe he feels so upbeat about Bucky’s chances.

 

“Alright. Let’s go,” she whispers, rising from the table. Despite his smile, she can sense his worry. It lurks nearby, hidden just beneath his carefully constructed poker face and makes her wish she could give him a hug because he sure as hell needs it. The truth is no one has hugged Steve Rogers since he woke from the ice except Natasha—and that was only at Peggy Carter’s funeral. He certainly deserves a hug after everything he’s done for the world but Zaara realizes she can’t do it in a casual sort of way, not with the feelings she’s read in his body and still experiences in her own, even though he looks so hopeful and fearful that it tears at her. She barely knows him and yet she has read nearly everything inside of him, all his memories and his deepest, most intimate feelings. But more than anything, she marvels at how much Bucky means to him. The friendship between these two men outshines most family ties for they are brothers by choice who love one another, who would die for each other. Perhaps she has only read such closeness in identical twins, but the bond between Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes has been forged in the fires of adversity, poverty, and war. They survived everything together. ‘ _Til the end of the line_ , Bucky’s words echo vibrantly through the corridors of Steve’s unconscious and Zaara can hear them still.

 

_That’s some kind of amazing love._

 

They leave for the hospital together in a palace car, Zaara squeezing Steve’s hand every so often on the journey. She hopes to reassure him but she really can’t tell if it’s working because he just sits there, frozen. “Are you alright?” she finally asks, unable to let him be since she knows he’s in pain. Indeed, it almost hurts just to look at him and his stubborn mental shield has certainly shown her how difficult life can be without telepathy.

 

“Are you reading me?” he asks, a slight bit of defiance in his voice. He really can’t help it.

 

“Sort of,” she admits, blushing. “Sometimes, a few things come through. I don’t know why. I can tell you feel nervous, though. And, worried.”

 

He nods and looks down at his lap. There’s really nothing he can say. Bucky is everything to him.

 

“Have a little faith,” she says softly, wanting to touch him again. He seems so forlorn. “You’ve come to the right place. Bucky has friends in his corner now, and I have lots of experience helping people like him. It’s going to be alright.”

 

He nods, not daring believe it true, and turns to gaze out the window at the sun casting its rays over the broad Wakandan sky, the brightness of her smile almost too much for him to bear.

 

The medical facility where they keep Bucky is as secure as the palace itself and the staff seems surprised by Zaara’s presence. But the King is there already, waiting for them. “Are you ready, Ms. Xaviar?” he asks when they enter the unit.

 

“They’re just wonderful, T’Challa,” Zaara whispers in awe, taking in the busy minds of the medical personnel who circulate around the room. “So dedicated. Bucky is very lucky.”

 

He nods proudly. “They have spent their lives training.”

 

Zaara concentrates a moment. “They’re good people. He’s a person to them, not just a patient. They hate seeing him there, frozen in the ice.”

 

“I know,” he says quietly. “We all do.”

 

“Bucky wanted it that way,” Steve interjects defensively. Steve would never have allowed it otherwise.

 

Zaara nods, wishing for the hundredth time she could read his mind in the moment. “Yes. Because he’s a good man, despite everything that’s happened to him. He volunteered to go on ice and that says it all. Let’s go see him.” They follow the staff into Bucky’s chamber, the King himself providing the retinal scan to grant them access.

 

The dark-haired man known as the Winter Soldier lies motionless in his chilly glass coffin, the skin on his face a pale bluish white, eyelashes streaked with crystalline frost. But he does not look dead, not quite; perhaps something more like Snow White awaiting love’s first kiss. Zaara spent a good deal of her evening reading stories of sleeping princesses and Bucky, first and foremost, reminds her of some sort of disheveled fairytale prince, his masculine beauty frozen in time. She smiles and imagines what it would be like to kiss those blue lips, wondering if he would wake slowly, eyelashes fluttering, to smile back at her.

 

Suddenly, she gasps and turns away, burying her face in the crook of Steve’s neck. He looks down at her, startled by the way her silken tresses tickle his jaw, the unexpected weight of her body making him tremble. “Zaara?” He’s worried about her, scared for Bucky, and thrilled to feel her body pressing up against his own. He’s never comforted a woman this way before, using his body. It feels so natural and incredibly satisfying.

 

She quickly gets a hold of herself and takes some deep breaths, releasing his arm and stepping away, to his dismay. “Sorry about that.”

 

“Are you alright?” he asks, worried, but not sure whether it’s more for her or for Bucky. He wants to reach for her but stops himself short. _Not sure what’ll happen if I touch her because I want to do it—too much._

 

“Yeah,” she breathes, trying to keep it all in though she might as well tell him the truth. She takes a few more breaths, pausing before she makes her confession. “I saw his mind.”

 

Sadness washes over him. _This can’t be good._ “What was it like?”

 

“Like looking at someone who broke both arms and legs seventy years ago, and they still haven’t been set right.” Clenching her fists, she feels bad to have spoken so frankly and her voice crackles. She finds herself longing to embrace Bucky Barnes and squeeze him tight in her arms, as if that would take away his pain. She yearns to soothe him and comfort him the way she would a child, as if her love could shelter him from all the evil in the world. But it can’t. _Bucky is a grown man._

 

Steve’s heart falters.

 

She looks back at the man known as the Winter Soldier, staring hard. She’s ready to read him now that she has some sense of what she’s up against, but something tells her she’s managed to spook Steve. The realization makes her wince so she turns back to face him, even daring to place her hands upon his shoulders. It takes a lot not to be distracted by the closeness, the electricity she feels whenever she touches him, but the man deserves some reassurance. Choosing her words carefully, she lowers her voice. “It’s alright, Steve. Really. It won’t be easy, but I can help him, I promise. I’m a sensitive person and it’s hard for me to see him this way. I wish I had a thicker skin. He’s suffered a lot and it’s going to take a long time to heal him. I hate Hydra and everything they’ve done to him. This is all their fault. But believe me when I tell you—I’ve seen worse.”

 

He feels an even deeper sadness for his friend and looks to T’Challa. The Wakandan king pats him on the back, an unusually friendly gesture for the monarch. “She’s not kidding, Captain.”

 

“Let’s get this party started,” Zaara calls and gingerly drops her hands from his body. The absence of her touch leaves him cold, so he presses his arms into his sides snugly as if to steady himself while she summons the physicians.

 

The staff enters. The head doctor warns them that the chamber is about to get extremely hot extremely quickly. They brace themselves while the medics activate the strange, windowed coffin. The glass doors remain tightly shut as they flood Bucky’s frozen body with heat. Zaara takes the opportunity to move closer, her fingers resting on the glass only a moment before they start to burn. The machines hum but the Winter Soldier remains quiet as the dead. Blasts of hot air target his body in a rapid defrosting regime intended to protect his cells from tissue damage. Zaara clings to his mind, to any shreds of Bucky Barnes she can grasp hold of while his body is practically skewered by the unrelenting blasts of heat.

 

It takes only minutes.

 

After what feels like an interminable amount of time to Steve, they conclude the defrosting a success. Sensors indicate the patient has stabilized and the head doctor orders the doors opened. Zaara sighs and moves closer, placing her hands upon his still cold brow the moment the glass gives way. _It’s strange and horrible to see him like this, the poor man. But still, he seems so beautiful. Such a handsome man, this Winter Soldier._ “It’s a little easier this way,” she explains to the Captain and the King. “You can come closer, Steve. It’s alright.”

 

Steve moves behind her, wanting to watch and, yet, wanting to cover his eyes. Bucky’s been dead to him for so long. He’d thought he’d lost him forever in the war and he barely got him back before he had to let him go again. Seeing him this way—frozen in time, still as the dead but for the tiny, persistent ping of a machine that represents his slow, cold heartbeat—shrouds his soul in darkness. But he doesn’t dare let himself contemplate his friend not making it this time. He releases a shallow sigh and admits the truth.

 

_He’s all I got._

He allows himself this grief knowing it can only lead to a path of hope; Zaara showed him that. And, indeed, he finds hope in _her_ eyes. She smiles at him now, offering him comfort even though her real job is to heal his friend and not him. Indeed, Zaara’s heart aches more for Steve in that moment than for Bucky.

 

_What he’s been through—it’s just as bad if not worse than Bucky. He all but betrayed the Avengers, the only friends he has left, just to save him. All of them were ready to kill Bucky, even though he’s innocent of every crime, and it’s torn him apart. God, these two deserve a break, they deserve so much more than what they’ve got. They sacrificed everything, lived for years and years without love. But the love they got long ago when they were young made them into good men. Nothing’s changed that, not anything that’s happened. And I bet nothing ever will._

 

Her lips form a gentle smile as she meets Steve’s eyes. Even without even reading his mind, she senses she must model the courage he’s possessed all his life since it seems to have abandoned him now. His fear and uncertainty reveal themselves so clearly to her and she wonders at it since he is so close to having Bucky back. She winks at him but he can only give her a hesitant smile in return.

 

“How long will it be before he wakes?” she asks one of the doctors hurrying by. _The sooner he’s up and running, the sooner Steve can be his old self again._

 

“It is best to allow it to happen naturally,” the physician replies. “Be patient.”

 

“Ms. Xaviar, what if you try to accelerate the process?” T’Challa queries, keeping his distance from the man who once was the Winter Soldier.

 

“I could. He’s enhanced, he might be able to handle it,” Zaara murmurs. “But I don’t want to risk harming him—not when he’s finally under the care of real doctors. He’s suffered enough.”

 

“I think you are right,” T’Challa nods solemnly, recalling his many encounters with the Winter Soldier. He holds himself as a man of honour. Having attacked an innocent man, accused him of a crime he did not commit, puts T’Challa in the uncomfortable position of owing Barnes a life debt.

 

Zaara agrees. She knows T’Challa feels guilt for what he’s done. But the young king is making amends. “You’ve done a good deed, T’Challa.”

 

“I think he might be finally getting his break,” Steve agrees, looking all too fondly at her though she pays him no mind.

 

“I’ll stay with him when he wakes, all the way through,” she asserts.

 

“So will I,” Steve adds ardently.

 

“I, however, have duties to attend to,” T’Challa raises his eyebrows at them. _It is as if they try to outmatch their devotion to Barnes. Curious._ “Please call me, Ms. Xaviar, and inform me of his progress.”

 

She smiles and nods. “Thanks for all you’ve done, T’Challa.”

 

“No. I’m the one who owes you thanks,” Steve says brusquely.

 

“Good luck,” T’Challa nods at them both with sincerity before he whisks himself away with all the stealth of a real black panther.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Hours later, both of them weary, conversation grinds to a halt. Loathe to distract Zaara, Steve hopes she’s giving Bucky the guidance he needs to return to the world of the living and to his own mind. Yet, even with the thrill of having found her, depression weighs him down. The guilt he has carried in his years since waking from the ice has only multiplied during the long hours of waiting for Bucky to wake and he’s grateful Zaara cannot read him right now. Courage has abandoned him and, to his shame, he finds himself looking to her for strength. Her unwavering focus on his friend is the only thing keeping him together at the moment—and he’s glad she doesn’t see it. He doesn’t want to be a burden.

 

Zaara finally releases her hold on Bucky and sighs.

 

“What’s the view upstairs?” Steve asks tentatively, not wanting to be pushy.

 

Zaara wrinkles her brow. “Something like a dreamer, just not the active kind. He has some kind of barrier in there, too—I can’t figure it out. A bit strange, some sort of anomaly, but who knows what Hydra did to him all those years? He’s never been allowed to be himself. He’s been nothing but their slave until Bucharest. And even then, he was lost; hunted, lonely, confused. I can already see how reluctant he was to let you know he recognized you; he didn’t even want to admit it to himself. I’m gonna have to wait ‘til he wakes to get a closer look. I can see a few patches of memories here and there, but he’s still in a deep sleep. It’s best to finish tethering him when he’s closer to his waking mind. Ugh, they’re going to have to understand when I miss dinner. And bedtime.”

 

Steve remembers her daughter and his guilt intensifies. “Thank you for doing this . . .”

 

“You’re welcome,” she interrupts with a big smile. Despite his own stubborn shield, she can sense that sort of guilt a mile away and she is determined to protect him from it. “But you don’t have to keep thanking me. I’m glad to do it. Our work doesn’t end here. And by the way, it’s not the end of the world to miss dinner.”

 

He nods, afraid to say anything more since he can tell she is concentrating hard. They remain silent a good long while, Zaara moving her fingers across Bucky’s forehead every so often until she takes his chilly hand in her own and strokes it tenderly. She smiles and looks up at Steve, a question in her eyes. “Here. Won’t you?”

 

“Will he know?” Steve asks, surprised.

 

“Yes, in a way,” she nods happily. “No one’s held his hand in over seventy years.”

 

Steve swallows his grief. It’ll have to wait. He moves his stool closer.

 

“Wait a second,” Zaara smiles and reconsiders. “He’s awfully cold.” She drops Bucky’s hand and grabs Steve’s somewhat shamelessly, using it to warm her own. The medics are keeping the room hot, it’s a balmy 90 degrees, and their sweat mingles. “Wow! You’re a walking furnace.”

 

His face glows with surprise and he can’t decide if it’s because her hands feel so cold or if it’s just the touch of her skin against his.

 

She giggles. “Sorry.”

 

“It’s okay,” Steve blushes. “Guess I’ll need a minute to warm myself up, then.”

 

She purses her lips and watches intently as Steve enfolds her small, cold hands between his own huge palms. She is fascinated by it, the contrast between their size and strength. She can feel his blood pulsing as he presses and rubs their fingers together. The thrill of his strength and those hands—she can tell—they crave her touch about as much as she craves his. His fingers, thick and muscly, fit snugly between her own. Nevertheless, he releases her to take Bucky’s hand and it is a relief, for Zaara’s touch is, as usual, electric.

 

_Focus, soldier. We’re only here for Bucky._

 

“You know,” she muses, gently diverting his attention. “I have a guy who works for us back home. He’s sort of an engineer and he’s absolutely brilliant. I bet he can build Bucky a new arm.”

 

“Really?” Steve asks, numb from all the goodness that seems to have fallen into his life and still tingling with joy from her touch. “You’ve done so much already.”

 

“I haven’t done anything yet,” she demurs.

 

They stay a couple more hours in silent contemplation or with small, clipped conversation. Steve hates to tear her attention away from Bucky since the memory of his own painful recovery haunts him still. When he came out of the ice, he had no one at all. SHIELD kept him unconscious far longer than he needed to be out of psychological concerns; he found out much later, thanks to Natasha. But no one is going to be drugging Bucky through any of this, not unless he suffers needless pain. Questions linger in his mind: Zaara’s home, the school for mutants, her friend Forge, her daughter, their life in upstate New York near the Avengers compound—and American law enforcement.

 

“You’re worried,” Zaara notes as the day grows late.

 

“You picked that up?” he asks, swallowing. They have not touched each other for quite some time now and though his body still longs for contact with hers, it is something of a relief. His depression has finally waned and he feels calmer, for the most part, and at peace. The sexual distraction has lessened so much so that he can simply rest his eyes upon Bucky’s sleeping face and let his expression of guileless innocence conjure up images from their youth. It has been a long, quiet meditation for him.

 

“That, and a couple other things,” Zaara raises her eyebrows, refusing to specify. She can sense the odd bit of sexual energy from him every now and then, but nowhere near as much as when he held her hands in his own. He has feelings for her, she saw it when she read his mind and knew it from the images he projected back in the hotel room when he had imagined kissing her. Somehow, these deep-seated feelings reveal themselves to her on occasion. She’s not sure why this is so, but it gives her quite a thrill. Still, she supposes it would be better if she couldn’t read those vibes because she’s having enough trouble staying focused on Bucky as it is. Her own body betrays her, positively revels at his closeness, the way her skin brushes against his while they take turns warming Bucky’s hand. She has never felt energy like this before; it sends jolts flashing through her entire body and leaves her tingling.

 

“What things?” he asks boldly, intrigued. He loves the way she makes him feel deep down in his bones. Although he’s aware there could be a conflict of interest, Zaara being Bucky’s caregiver and all, he’s never felt so alive, at least not since he was with Peggy during the war. But he pushes those memories aside and tries not to think too much about Zaara being a mother, or Ellie’s father being somewhere on the scene. Zaara hasn’t mentioned him yet.

 

“Never you mind,” she swats that question away. “But I just read something about your worries—the legal side of it? Am I right?”

 

“I was thinking about law enforcement, about bringing Bucky back to the States and to New York, of all places,” he explains, trying to put his thoughts about Zaara and her life firmly on the backburner. “How come you can read that?”

 

“I don’t know. It seems random. I don’t always understand everything I’m able to do, just like I don’t quite understand your mental shield,” she admits. “But don’t worry about any legal issues; yours, or Bucky’s. We’ll deal with it when we get home. I have an excellent team of attorneys who would be more than happy to take Bucky’s case. They’ve helped us out many times before. They have, shall I say, a soft spot for vigilantes.”

 

Steve blinks with surprise. “Vigilantes?”

 

She laughs. “You may as well get comfortable with the term, Captain. Bucky deserves the best legal representation out there. He’s essentially been a POW for the last seventy years, tortured, and imprisoned for crimes he didn’t commit. He deserves every defense money can buy.”

 

“How will we ever pay for that?” Steve muses.

 

“We have a legal fund for mutants,” she answers brightly.

 

Bucky suddenly squeezes her hand.

 

“Bucky!” she whispers in excitement, and the light in her eyes makes Steve’s heart sing. She notices that Bucky’s lips, once blue, have turned the palest shade of pink, his white cheeks a slight bit rosier. His hand is still freezing cold, but there can be no doubt that it’s moving.

 

“Feel it, Steve,” she insists in a fierce whisper, grabbing his hand.

 

“Doctor!” Steve calls, willing to go on Zaara’s word alone. But he lets her put Bucky’s hand in his and experiences what excited her so. He feels Bucky’s fingers twitch beneath his while Zaara’s feminine hand rests softly atop his own. Closing his eyes, he fully submits himself to the rush of it and drowns in a wild, untrammeled sort of joy.

 

All too soon, Zaara moves away and stands by Bucky’s head, rubbing her thumbs over his cold chalky cheeks. Steve opens his eyes and gazes at her but she only concentrates on her work.

 

The Winter Soldier remains, for the most part, still.

 

The head doctor enters and checks his vitals. “Looks good,” she nods. “Our patient may just be coming around.”

 

Zaara smiles bravely and reaches for Steve’s free hand. “It’s just about time. I’m going to finish tethering him before he wakes up. OK?”

 

Steve only looks at her, sadness in his eyes. _Bucky would want this._ “Do it. He’ll understand.”

 

“Only with your express permission,” Zaara looks hard at him now. “I’m treating you as next of kin. Alright?”

 

“Alright,” he nods, swallowing the jolt brought on by the touch of her hand. He knows he’s all Bucky’s got and he’s willing to trust Zaara with both their lives. He’s not sure whether an angel of mercy would do more for them given the way she’s allowed both of them into her life. He sure as hell doesn’t deserve it.

 

_But Bucky does._

 

She smiles and actually takes both of Steve’s hands in her own now, willing to accept any sexual feelings it brings about in the hopes of comforting him. _Class five mutants don’t date—anyone_ , she tells herself for the hundredth time but it feels so awful to see him in pain she finds herself willing to do anything to relieve it. “It’ll be OK, Steve. I know you’ll look out for his best interests. I’m going to check in with you every step of the way, whenever Bucky can’t make a decision for himself. Having you here is such a blessing for him. Trust me.”

 

“I do,” he answers quietly, his eyes pained. He squeezes them shut, fighting back the lump that suddenly clamps up in his throat. He simply cannot reconcile the burning joy of being near her with his gratitude for having Bucky back. He surrenders to both and tears fill his eyes. It is, perhaps, the most humbling and exhilarating moment of his life.

 

Her smile broadens and she releases his hands to rest her palms over Bucky’s temples. “Here goes nothing.” It only takes a few moments before she sighs happily and releases him. Steve doesn’t even have time to swallow. “There. It’s done. He’s close to waking. I have to make a phone call, but I’m not going to leave his side after that—not for a long time.”

 

Steve nods, scared and delighted. He inadvertently watches her hips sway back and forth as she exits the chamber. It’s a good distraction, a soothing relief from his tension, and he is grateful for it. He knows he can’t let these feelings get in the way of their work, but he’s had just about all he can take.

 

Life has been an emotional roller coaster for him since waking from the ice—a bombardment of alien attacks, Hydra infiltrations, and even killer robots. When he lost Peggy, he had no time to mourn, immediately taken up by the hunt for the Winter Soldier. Grief for the loss of his first love had to be put on hold and the fight for Bucky’s life used up almost everything he had left inside of him. But now, he has no other choice; he needs to be strong for Bucky and can’t let himself mope around, depressed. He can't feel secure in the joy of getting Bucky back, either. Still, he shakes it off and, before realizing it, overhears part of Zaara’s conversation through the hallway, something about being late for dinner and sending apologies to the kids.

 

_Kids? Sounds like there’s more than one of them. But I only saw Ellie._

 

In the next moment, Bucky stirs.

 

By the time his eyes open, Zaara is at Bucky’s side once more. Light pours in through the window and casts its angelic glow on their faces.

 

Steve gazes longingly at both of them, and holds his breath.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. It's Been a Long, Long Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So when I saw that today is Bucky Barnes' 100th birthday, I could not resist waking him up ;-)  
> I was going to wait longer to post this chapter, but I think the time is ripe.  
> Besides, we don't want Steve getting blue in the face from holding his breath, lol.
> 
> Happy 100th birthday, Bucky!

 

 

 

 

_Kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again,_

_It’s been a long, long time._

_Haven’t felt like this, my dear, since I can’t remember when,_

_It’s been a long, long time._

_You’ll never know how many dreams I’ve dreamed about you_

_Or just how empty they all seemed without you._

_So, kiss me once then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again,_

_It’s been a long, long time._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The man on the bed does not seem a man—not yet. He is something else in this waking moment, perhaps an empty vessel or a slumbering beast awaiting its summons, poised to hook its neck to the yoke. Though his body slowly wakes, the person known as James Buchanan Barnes is not yet present. His mind hovers on the cusp of consciousness, his body still enmeshed with sleep, his senses yet unroused. He stirs intermittently, trapped in the tentative and vulnerable prism between waking life and all the sparse and fragile moments in which Bucky Barnes has known consciousness over the last seventy years.

 

Soon, the Soldier will take over. It always does. The Soldier is not a he, the Soldier is an _it_ ; Bucky has emerged from cryo too many times to understand it otherwise.  _It_ always appears when he comes out of the ice in those moments before he can gain control of his own body, the moments after they say the words, _the goddamn_ _words_ , those daggers that rob him of his own life and he will watch the Soldier do its damage, a prisoner and unwilling spectator to carnage, death, and destruction.

 

His eyes open, though they are yet soft. Helpless and completely at their mercy as he has been each and every time, he waits for his blurred vision to clear and, when it does, he registers the tall man who stands next to his gurney. Deeply familiar with this, the agonizing gateway between sleep and waking life, the moment just before he loses himself for the umpteenth time, he knows it never lasts long. And, yet . . .

 

This man seems familiar. His scent, his appearance—he is not dressed like a Hydra scientist or a thug and he stares directly into Bucky’s hazy eyes and Bucky feels—what? Something inexplicable, something new and terribly fragile. A sense of recognition. Safety. Friendship.

 

And, undeniably, love.

 

_Steve._

 

He’d recognize that face anywhere. With a faint whisper, he reaches for him. “Hey, punk.”

 

Someone squeezes his hand. He concentrates, struggling to remember where the hell he is. _It’s Steve. He woke me up. What’s happened?_ Unable to recall his year on the lam or anything that transpired since their fight on the helicarrier, his mind swiftly returns to his body, the body that so insistently dominates his person, the body that so rarely does what he wants it to do. The body that has, for most of his life, been taken from him. A tiny fragment of memory pierces through the fog.

 

_So cold. I must be on ice. Wait. I know. I was with Steve before I went down. Saw his face before I closed my eyes. Where am I? How long has it been?_

 

“Bucky.”

 

There is love in Steve’s voice; Zaara can tell without reading his mind. She notices it just before she dives deeply into Bucky’s. The mind of the former Winter Soldier feels cloudy. Nebulous. Blissfully empty of the violent horror she encountered in Steve’s. Innocent, at least for the moment, of the recent happenings in Siberia, his entire being is focused on his body’s recovery from the ice--that is, until he notices Zaara. Her hand rests gently upon his naked shoulder and he gradually becomes aware of it, the way it feels incredibly warm and soft. He does not speak, but turns his face away from Steve and those glittering blue eyes take her in.

 

The woman doesn't look like a doctor; the expression on her face seems too personally invested, too kind. She’s certainly not dressed like a scientist for her hair hangs long and loose, her clothes far too casual. _It should be up in a bun or a ponytail if she’s working at a medical facility or a Hydra lab. She'd be wearing a labcoat. This dame must be a civilian._ Her eyes are gentle, genuine, with no hidden agenda or ulterior purpose. He opens his mouth like he’s doing it for the first time and pushes out his words, his voice weak from disuse, expressing his thoughts before he can stop himself--the thoughts of Bucky Barnes.

 

“You’re . . . so . . . beautiful.”

 

Zaara smiles tenderly at those glittering, vulnerable eyes and wonders how to respond. Now that he is awake, she can see something of the real Bucky Barnes, more than just dreams and memories, and he is profoundly unlike the Winter Soldier. He is mischievous and flirtatious with a stubborn will, a brave heart, and a deep appreciation of beauty. The Winter Soldier pays no attention to beauty. Beauty is irrelevant.

 

“Beauty fades. Dumb is forever,” she answers brightly and shrugs. “Hello, Bucky. It’s good to finally meet you. I’m Zaara.”

 

Zaara meets Steve’s eyes and directs her smile to him now and he cannot resist smiling back, surprised by her words. She is unused to having handsome young men call her beautiful to her face, though Steve would never have guessed it. Indeed, it is rather wonderful to have Bucky wake up in this way. His attention to her femininity is a good sign.

 

“Zaara?” Bucky whispers in a voice still weak from disuse. Between his best friend and the beautiful stranger, it’s still a struggle to remember where he is.

 

_Bucky, can you hear me? Don’t be afraid._

Bucky swallows painfully, his throat hoarse and dry. _Is, is that you? Did you just say something?_

_Not out loud. I said it in your mind._

 

 _My mind?_ His eyes widen painfully, flinching at the light.

_Yes. I’m a telepath. Steve asked me to help you. But we can talk out loud, if you prefer._

 

“Steve?” Bucky calls plaintively, unable to conceal the worry in his voice. Fear hits him hard, though Steve’s expression betrays no concern.

 

“She’s a friend,” Steve says reassuringly, still marveling at the way Zaara deflected Bucky’s admiration of her. Men must have called her beautiful before; it can hardly be a revelation. _I wonder why she said that?_ “I trust her.”

 

“Is this why you woke me up?” he asks, still blurry-eyed and weak. His mind has been programmed to wake quickly, however, and he is on the brink of assessing the situation, determining potential threats, calculating evasive maneuvers, identifying escape routes, applying offensive tactics.

 

“Yes,” she nods, smiling, both saddened and amused by his train of thought. _He really is quite the soldier._ “I’m here to look after you and protect you. Don’t worry; you’re safe and in Wakanda. Your body is still recovering from cryo.”

 

He nods tentatively. Waking from cryo holds no good memories for him. Now is the time when they would say the goddamn words and assign him his mission and the anticipation of it makes him wince. He’s never been allowed to be Bucky Barnes when he’s come out of the ice and he fully expects to be forced to rise from his chilly bed any moment now, long before all the pain and weariness leave his body. That’s the way it happened, decade after decade, time and time again when they woke him up from cryo. Soon, he will have to suit up, collect his gear and his weapons, and go and kill somebody—someone helpless, someone innocent. He never enjoyed it. But then, he was never in charge.

 

 _Ready to comply_ , he thinks, dully. Automatically.

 

“He’s afraid that I’m Hydra,” Zaara turns to Steve, frustrated she can’t speak to him telepathically. “We have to reassure him.”

 

“How about that story about the toothpaste?” Steve offers, blinking. Compassion floods his veins as he observes the way terror grips his friend. It’s all over his face, the way he struggles to keep his expression neutral even as his body still shivers from the cold and the horror. _Bucky has every reason to be scared._

 

“Oh, so you want to tell him about my incompetence?” Zaara snorts, not taking her eyes off Bucky. “Thanks a lot, Steve.”

 

He blushes and immediately feels guilty. “Sorry.”

 

But she only laughs and directs her words to Bucky now, tenderly massaging his forearm, her hands comforting him without words. “Well, he’s not wrong. Hydra would never put me on the payroll. I’d make a lousy spy. You know, one time I was dumb enough to phone my best friend and blab about her surprise birthday party.”

 

Bucky raises his eyebrows in amusement though his reactions are still slow, his nervous system still sluggish from the ice. Sparks of pain shoot randomly through his body. _Typical. Happens every time._ It’s an expected part of his recovery though the Soldier always ignored it. All that mattered to the Soldier was the mission. But Bucky Barnes notices the flash that hits his arm, then, moments later, his leg. All too soon, another one zings him on his hip before it burns through each of his toes. His fingers tingle with needles and pins and he even experiences ghost pains for his missing arm, but at least he is able to breath clearly; Steve feels grateful for that much. He is still freezing cold, however, and wishes for a blanket.

 

“So, just this morning as I already told Steve, I stepped on an open tube of toothpaste. It sprayed all over my clothes and I slipped and nearly cracked my skull on the sink,” Zaara admits sheepishly while she searches around the room. “Blanket, please?”

 

Bucky furrows his brow, wondering what such strange information has to do with anything.

 

Zaara prepares her confession while Steve brings a blanket. They wrap it around him, tuck it under his arm and legs before Zaara bows her head in penitence. “And yesterday, I mistook Steve for a Hydra thug and . . . and I kidnapped him.”

 

Bucky cracks a small grin. “You _kidnapped_ him?” his broken voice shimmers with surprise.

 

“Yup. Took him prisoner. And he still hasn’t forgiven me,” she winks at him.

 

“What?” Steve practically shouts, incredulous, but the joke is on him. Zaara and Bucky laugh together and Steve revels at the sight. Bucky, who had been lying on his cot weak and prone like some wounded animal actually curls into himself, relaxing and chuckling and Steve is flooded with joy.

 

_She did that._

The three of them let the rolls of laughter continue until they gently come to a stillness, Zaara stroking Bucky’s naked arm all the while. _Bucky? Don’t be afraid._

 

Her touch is new, unlike anything he’s ever experienced coming out of the ice.

“She really was the best kidnapper. Ever,” Steve insists, anxious to assure Zaara that all is forgiven. “Turned out to be the luckiest day of my life.”

 

“Oh, stop,” Zaara demurs, blushing. “Big liar.” But Steve only beams at her. She directs her attention back to Bucky. “So, do you still think I sound like a Hydra agent? I bet they don’t give good hugs,” she muses, and, with a good deal of spunk, climbs onto his bed and throws her arms around him, succumbing to what she’d been wanting to do all along. In the most motherly way she can, she snuggles him close and nestles his cheek into the softness of her breast.

 

Bucky catches a surprised breath as feminine flesh envelopes him. This body poses no threat to his own, he can tell immediately for it is soft, warm, and absolutely full of curves. The mind of the Soldier diminishes and Bucky Barnes takes full charge now for there is clearly no need to escape. _What have I done to deserve this?_ All the same, he struggles to get comfortable with it, to allow it to happen at all. It is entirely unprecedented. He wants to accept the warmth of her body on his, a touch that is anything but a threat, the kind of touch utterly foreign to him now. And yet, he has not entirely forgotten the feel of a woman’s body, and this one seems amazingly soft. Her scent envelopes him and it smells like something so good, so familiar though he can’t quite name it so he carefully wraps his arm around her and plants his hand firmly on her hip. He feels too cold and too tired to experience any awkwardness for hugging a stranger.

 

 _She really is beautiful. Can’t remember the last time I had my arm around a dame. If I were myself again, I’d be enjoying this—a lot._ But mostly, he imagines angels looking down on him now, for to have hugs instead of Hydra agents is a marvelous thing after waking up from cryo. Numbly, he wonders if he is still dreaming.

 

“This is no dream, Bucky. Do you still think I’m Hydra?” Zaara asks, a twinkle in her eye. “They wouldn’t know a cuddle party from a tupperware party. He’s really starting to feel the cold, Steve. Can you call the nurse?”

 

Steve, momentarily hypnotized, kicks himself awake and tears his eyes away from the sight of them. He presses the beeper and help comes swiftly. A nurse plugs in an electric blanket even though the room is a balmy 90 degrees and covers the two of them with it.

 

Zaara watches Steve the whole while, the expression on his face inscrutable, but Zaara can see the tension he holds in the stiffness of his neck and the clenching of his jaw. _Look who’s acting the soldier now. Too bad, Steve. I can read jealousy a mile away._ She smirks. “You know, cuddle parties need more than two. He’ll warm up faster if you curl up on the other side.”

 

Steve blushes but he knows she’s right; he’s seen hypothermia before and, no matter how hot the room gets, Bucky just can’t seem to stop shivering. _Poor fella—was this what it was like for him all those years when they put him on ice and woke him up over and over again?_ Pain envelopes his heart but he moves to the other side of the cot anyways and slides his body in next to Bucky’s. The physical contact eases Steve’s heartache enough so that an old, familiar sense of jealousy breaks through. It’s the sight of Bucky nestling his cheek upon Zaara’s breast. Despite the pain of the past and all his sorrow for his friend, Steve has to admit he’d love to be in Bucky’s shoes right now.

 

And indeed, even in his weakened state, Bucky’s wits are sharp enough to sense it. “So,” he begins, his voice a touch bit stronger. “Tell me, punk. What’s going on?”

 

“Go on, Steve,” Zaara murmurs encouragingly. The body contact is starting to make Bucky feel better. He’s still not ready to trust her yet, but he’s starting to let himself enjoy it. He’s a man, after all.

 

“Well, when I first met Zaara and found out she has these, these powers, I asked her to help you,” Steve explains, adjusting to the incredible amount of body heat circulating between the three of them under the electric blanket. Zaara clings to Bucky’s arm while Steve lays close to his side and concentrates his own body heat into his friend’s chilly core. “So, before we woke you up, she tethered your mind to hers. That way, no one else can control you. Hydra can’t get inside you anymore, not while she’s there. She’s offered to protect you, to take you home, and keep you safe until you’re healed.”

 

“Healed?” Bucky asks, incredulous. _What the hell does that mean?_ His mind slowly pieces it together and he suddenly wonders if they’re talking about _it--_ the Soldier. “What powers? Can she get inside my mind like that little redhead of yours?”

 

“Yes,” Zaara nods. “Well, sort of. I did look in your mind, at Steve’s request. I’m treating him as your next of kin, so I only did it with his permission. I linked your mind to mine. Tethered, for safety. Consider it an alternative to going on ice. I can see what Hydra did to you, I know about those words and how much you hate them. You did the right thing, going back on ice, it was very brave of you. And you’re right; they’ll come for you again and they’ll keep on coming until I wipe those words away forever. And I will. But it’s going to take a lot more than that to heal you and let you live a real life again. That’s our goal, and our game plan.”

 

“Am I still in Wakanda?” Bucky asks drowsily.

 

“Yes. And, I think, you’ll probably spend the night here in this chamber. They want to monitor your vitals. I’ll stay with you, and so will Steve. Tomorrow, hopefully by morning, you can come to my suite and we’ll stay there. Then, in a couple weeks, it’ll be time for us to go home.”

 

“Home?” Bucky and Steve ask simultaneously.

 

“Yes. I’ll tell you all about that later. It’s the safest place for you, even safer than Wakanda. You’ll have lots of people to look after you. Good people. It’s just, well, I hope you don’t mind kids.”

 

“You want me around kids?” Bucky asks, incredulous, even in his weariness.

 

“It won’t be a problem,” Zaara shrugs it off. “You’ll be tethered to me until you have full control over the Soldier and you’re ready to be on your own again.”

                                                                                                                   

“What’s this tether?” he asks, really starting to enjoy the softness of her breast upon his cheek. He’s becoming more and more aware of her femininity, the enticing cushion of her body against his, her tantalizing scent. Her breast, so close to his mouth now, makes him wonder what would happen if he dared to kiss it, but he won’t. He’d never hurt this woman, this angel who woke him, this beauty who holds him in her arms. Even in his weakened condition, he can sense Steve’s jealousy and his mouth forms a smirk.

 

_Eat your heart out, punk._

 

“Your minds are tied together,” Steve explains patiently, still trying to ignore his own boyish jealousy.

 

“So, you control me?” Bucky looks up at Zaara, nervous with the thrill of her touch.

 

“Well, I could,” she admits. “But I don’t control people. That’s not what I do. The tether is for safety, only. If the Soldier tries to take over, I can stop him dead in his tracks. I’m afraid it’s not going to give you much privacy, though.” She pauses, hypnotized by the image he has just given her of his full, stubbly lips kissing her breast. It doesn’t repulse her—quite the opposite. Barnes is a most handsome man and in this vulnerable state, she feels intensely protective of him. The combination makes a potent brew. But she takes a breath and continues.

 

“If you look on the bright side, the tether might give you incentive to work hard on your healing. When you're ready, I'll sever it and you can live on your own again. I hope it won’t be too awful for you. I understand why you wouldn’t be comfortable with it. The last thing I want is for you to feel controlled; you had seventy years of that.”

 

Bucky’s eyes narrow and he glances over at Steve. “I could think of uglier people to be tethered to.”

 

Zaara actually blushes, for Bucky is motivated by more than her mind. Though it is a sign of health for one such as him, she is not used to spending a great deal of time around eligible bachelors. _And, suddenly, I’m going to be living with two of them,_ she realizes.

 

“You’re gonna be living with both of us?” Bucky asks in amazement.

 

“Oh,” she laughs. “That’s the tether. You heard my thought. It goes both ways, you know.”

 

“So you’ll be reading each other’s minds?” Steve asks, feeling another unexpected pang of envy. _Wait—she’s gonna be living with both of us?_

 

“Well, mostly, I’ll be hearing his thoughts. I can shut him out of mine. He’ll only hear me when I’m, uh, unguarded,” she admits reluctantly. “I’ll have to make some adjustments. I haven’t had to tether anyone in a long time, so, I’m sorry about that. We’ll figure it out.”

 

“How do I know you won’t be controlling me?” Bucky asks trepidatiously, and unwittingly nuzzles his cheek deeper into her breast for comfort. It brushes over her nipple, making her shiver.

 

“I’ll let you insult Steve as much as you like,” she suggests nonchalantly, even as the tips of her ears burn red. “And you can pretty much do whatever you want. The tether is only for safety. I can increase the distance when you need to be apart from me. Otherwise, I’ll be keeping you close, at least for a little while.”

 

The three of them lie mostly in silence now, waiting for Bucky’s shivers to subside, Zaara never letting go of his chilly hand. Steve feels somewhat superfluous as he takes in the comfort Zaara showers upon his friend. Touching him, stroking him, murmuring to him in soft, soothing tones, she is giving him all the care and affection he deserves, his cheek upon her breast all the while. Indeed, Steve has not witnessed such tenderness since he was a child. He’s glad for Bucky. Zaara touches him like some kind of cherished friend or lover. It can’t help but dredge up his own loneliness and he frowns. None of that matters now that Bucky is safe.

 

Zaara looks over at him and smiles.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

The three of them remain together until Bucky finally succumbs to a sleep that is real and not the half-death of unconsciousness. Zaara sighs and wipes the beads of sweat off his forehead with the tips of her fingers. Pressing her nose to his brow, she whispers. “Sweet dreams, fair prince.” She looks up at Steve and grins, not caring that he heard.

 

Steve reddens, surprised by his jealousy and the way it creeps up on him. “Fair prince?”

 

“Aw, I can’t help it,” she shakes her head sheepishly. “I read Ellie too many damn fairytales last night. All those Snow Whites and Sleeping Beauties; he reminds me of them, that’s all.”

 

Steve snorts. “Bucky ain’t no prince, believe me.”

 

“Hmmm . . .” Zaara demurs. “I thought I read something in his mind about being a bit of a ladies’ man.”

 

“That was a long time ago,” Steve protests.

 

“Right,” Zaara nods, gingerly getting up from the cot. “It’s okay, Steve. He’s warm enough and in a pretty good sleep, the deep, restorative kind. I’m just covered in sweat so _I’m_ the one about to feel the cold next.”

 

Steve, also coated with sweat, takes the opportunity to climb off the cot as well. They grab their stools, though Zaara quickly takes Bucky’s hand in her own again.

 

“So,” Steve murmurs, watching the way she carefully strokes Bucky's skin, and it is like she is caressing a swath of velvet. “How’d that go?”

 

“Well,” she considers it. “About as well as we could have hoped. He’s very sincere, and, if I think about it too much, he’s gonna break my heart.”

 

Steve tears his eyes from her, chiding himself for a jealousy that refuses to go away, and focuses back on Bucky. “Do you think you can fix him? Get rid of the Winter Soldier?”

 

“Oh, yes,” she nods enthusiastically. “It’ll be hard work and take a long time, as I told you already. But we can make a clean break, I’m certain of it. Hydra’s methods were quite straightforward. Crude, but straightforward. Amateurish, actually.”

 

“Amateurish?” Steve is startled by this information.

 

“Yes,” she nods assuredly. “They wiped him clean and started over from scratch each and every time. They had to keep convincing him of his mission and the value of what he was doing—like he was a real soldier in a real outfit, fighting a real war because his mind always returned to Bucky Barnes. They kept his selfhood intact. I’m not certain why, but my best guess is they needed him to have all his marbles so he could function at the high level they demanded of him. The work he did for them, as horrid and twisted as it was, was actually quite sophisticated. He was a highly skilled assassin, not some blunt, worthless thug. More than just a killing machine . . .” Her voice fades and she becomes lost in thought.

 

“Zaara?” Steve finally asks, getting worried. “What is it?”

 

She looks at him sadly, as if reliving some sort of memory, and sighs. “I’ve definitely seen worse. We’re gonna get the Soldier out of him, and maybe we’ll even help him forgive himself. Like your teammate, Mr. Barton, he's got to accept that none of this was his fault. None of it. Mind control is like someone stealing your car and doing all sorts of horrible things with it. Yes, it was your car, but you weren’t the driver.”

 

Steve nods in agreement. Sometimes he feels like he's the only person in the world who sees it that way, who knows Bucky Barnes never had a choice as the Winter Soldier.

 

“Of course,” she continues, “Just like Barton, Bucky was there all the while. He remembers everything the Soldier did. All of it. And he had no power to stop it.” She turns and squeezes his hand. “Bucky Barnes is a good man, and he deserves our help. And, I’m afraid he’s going to need it. Very much.”

 

“What’s this ‘worse’ you keep talking about?” he forces himself to ask, even though he doesn’t really want to know.

 

“They could have sliced and diced him,” Zaara speaks frankly, meeting his gaze and holding it. He can read the pain in her eyes. “They could have left him wondering what was real and what was a lie. They could have erased entire parts of his life, memories about who he is or where he came from and put false ones in their place. The only other thing . . .” she lets her words drop away.

 

“What?” Steve demands. He has to know the whole truth.

 

“I think you suspected this before and I have no way to know, not right now, but my feeling is . . . Maybe Hydra did this on purpose—to get to _you._ They wanted to keep Bucky Barnes, to make him suffer, just to hurt you. I’m sorry, Steve.”

 

“Don’t be,” he shakes his head, gratitude filling his heart as he sits there, drinking in her image and the way she clings so gently to Bucky’s hand. “We have a way to heal him now. We have _you_. I couldn’t ask for anything more and I don’t care what else happened to him or what Hydra wanted to achieve because I have him back now. And I’m gonna keep him. Forever.”

 

Zaara gives him a smile so bright he can only bask in the glow of it.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Later in the night, Bucky stirs. But his body is still weary and Zaara groggily tells him to go right back to bed. Steve looks fondly upon his two sleepyheads, Zaara’s body resting half on the stool and half on the cot next to Bucky. He himself does not sleep at all, refusing to relinquish his watch over the two of them, his treasure without a price tag and the angel who gave it back to him.

 

For once, he can look forward to tomorrow, ready for whatever it might bring.

 


	6. I Won't Dance

 

 

 

_I won’t dance, don’t ask me_

_I won’t dance, don’t ask me_

_I won’t dance, madame, with you_

_My heart won’t let my feet do the things they should do._

_You know what, you’re lovely, you know what, you’re so lovely_

_And oh, what you do to me._

_I’m like an ocean wave that’s bumped on the shore_

_I feel so absolutely stumped on the floor._

_When you dance, you’re charming and you’re gentle_

_‘Specially when you do the Continental_

_And this feeling isn’t purely mental_

_‘Cause, heaven rest us, I’m not asbestos._

_And that’s why I won’t dance, why should I?_

_I won’t dance, how could I?_

_I won’t dance, merci beaucoup._

_I know that music leads the way to romance_

_So when I hold you in my arms, I won’t dance._

 

 

 

 

Steve readies himself.

 

It is morning, and time to take Bucky out of his chamber and bring him to Zaara’s suite at the palace, a radical change of environment for both men. These will be close quarters, much more so than in the Avengers’ compound. Steve is unused to living in such proximity to a woman, let alone a child. It’s going to be strange, even without the complication of having Bucky back in his life, both of them out of the ice and seventy years in the future. They barely had a chance to connect with each other on the quinjet and relive old memories before the confrontation with Stark in Siberia. _It’s never gonna be the same,_ he realizes quietly as he watches Bucky sit up in his cot. But he doesn’t care. All he wants is to have him back and he will take him in any condition and under any circumstance, as long as he’s out of Hydra’s clutches. Seeing Zaara’s face, the cheerful look in her eye and the determined set of her mouth, he makes up his mind.

 

_Circumstances aren’t so bad, after all._

 

He glances back at Bucky, still so weak and vulnerable without the prerogatives of the Winter Soldier to force him into action. The doctor says he needs rest to heal properly and Zaara insists he stay in the guest room of her suite to complete his recovery from cryo.

 

“He deserves to sleep in a real bed,” she announces. “He hasn’t slept in one since before the war, I bet.”

 

Bucky does not deny it.

 

Steve’s heart aches. _Ain’t that the truth._

 

“Don’t be afraid, Bucky. It’s going to be a big change for you but I know you can handle it. And, by the time you come home to our school, there’s going to be tons of kids around . . .” she says soothingly, rubbing his back for good measure.

 

“Kids?” Bucky frowns, his mind still slow and slovenly from the ice because this time, he is actually being allowed to recover fully. This time, there is no Winter Soldier to force him up and about even while he is still in pain and his joints ache every time he moves and his nerves shoot fire through his body at random times and places. “You’re gonna bring me around kids? How can you trust me when I can’t trust my own mind?”

 

Zaara smiles patiently. “Our kids are not exactly helpless. And I know you, even though you don’t know me; I’ve seen you from the inside. You would never harm a child.” She can’t help the pang in her chest brought about by her own words. Steve notices the strained expression on her face but she only nods at him and hopes he understands. She’ll have to explain it to him later.

 

“The tether,” Steve reminds him even though he hates the thought of it. He still longs to have Bucky back to his old self, the way he used to be. “That’ll keep them safe, Buck.”

 

He helps Bucky stand up, supporting him by the arm while Zaara stays close to Bucky's left side, her body never relinquishing contact with his. She even wraps her arm around his slim, muscular waist right below Steve’s, who bears most of Bucky’s weight. The medical staff hovers nearby, respecting the bond between the three of them. There’s not much more they can do since their offer of a wheelchair has been succinctly rejected.

 

“It’s alright,” Bucky protests weakly. “I can walk by myself.”

 

“We know,” Zaara agrees. “But you’re stuck with us.”

 

“’The lady’s right, pal,” Steve winks at him and good feelings flood him, his sorrow receding. He allows himself a small smile and Zaara notices it out the corner of her eye.

 

They guide him all the way out of the medical facility to the car. The ride home, like the ride to the facility, is a mostly silent one. Zaara squeezes Bucky’s knee every so often to reassure him and Steve’s hip presses against his own the entire way. Not for an instant is the man once known as the Winter Soldier allowed to feel alone.

 

“Jeepers,” Bucky whispers when they finally pull up to the palace. “You’ve gone up in the world, pal.”

 

Zaara suppresses a giggle. “We’re only guests here,” she reminds him. “For two more weeks.”

 

“And I’m staying in the servants’ wing,” Steve adds, with some relief.

 

“No, you’re not. Not anymore. You’re staying in my suite. With Bucky,” Zaara corrects him.

 

It gives him a warm feeling deep down in his stomach. In fact, Steve can’t really stop the emotions pouring through him, not even if he wanted to. Spending most of the night watching over Zaara and Bucky while they slept gave him an incredible sense of satisfaction. It just felt right, like he had been on some long, lonesome journey and had finally found his way home. Zaara grew tired late into the evening so he begged her to let the nurse bring her a cot. Staying awake all night was no big deal to him, but he could tell she needed her rest. _She said it was only a human body._ He kept watch over the two of them all through the night, his sorrow and fear abandoned for the stinging joy of being needed, his protectiveness for Bucky merging into his feelings for Zaara, as if the two had become one.

 

Zaara accepted it with reluctance. She knew she’d do better with sleep and since Bucky was still recovering, it would be good practice for nighttime tethering. She’d see any dreams he’d have and protect him from any nightmares. And so she slept, securing a promise from Steve that he’d wake her at the slightest change in Bucky’s condition, trying not to let herself think about him watching over them both. It almost felt too good, this sense of safety and warmth emanating outward from his very body and into her own. No one had ever watched over her in such a way before and it felt deeply intimate, almost pleasurable. Her dreams haunted her, though, and she could not tear her thoughts away from kissing him, imagining their bodies mingling, touching, and caressing. She thanked heaven Steve couldn’t see her dreams.

 

And now, he'll be sleeping under her roof and she has to set up a bed for _him_. She wonders absently whether he’d mind sharing the massive bed with Bucky for her suite is actually quite spacious. Indeed, the guest room has sat empty until now. She’d even kept it locked, not wanting the children to make a mess of it. Now it will finally serve a purpose. There is space for a separate cot, but Steve and Bucky were born of a different era. _Two grown men sharing a bed might not be such a big deal to them,_ she muses while their car zooms past the eclectic mix of ancient and modern buildings in downtown Birnin Zana. She remembers the soldiers’ quarters she’s seen in historic forts and how the men would curl up together in tiny cots. _Anyways, Steve and Bucky probably slept in the dirt together during the war any number of times. This’ll be a step up from that. Bucky needs to have someone next to him to feel safe, whether it’s Steve or me._

 

Steve himself is not so certain about the arrangement but he realizes it’s for the best. He worries for Zaara’s rambunctious daughter and hopes she won’t disturb Bucky or spook him in some way, but he knows his friend well. Bucky’s always loved children and has a real soft spot for girls in particular, having been very close to his little sister. A willing guest at countless tea parties, Bucky always acted the prince while Steve watched and tried not to snicker at him. Bucky never cared. Playing with little girls posed no threat to his manhood and he enjoyed it thoroughly, especially after becoming a Golden Gloves champion. He never had anything to prove after that.

 

 _He probably won’t mind having Ellie around, as long as Zaara keeps the Winter Soldier on a tight leash._ _Might even do him some good,_ Steve muses. _She seems confident it’ll be safe._

 

Bucky can hardly suppress a gasp when they enter the grand palace. They make their way down the massive, opulent hallways with ceilings as high as some gothic cathedral until they reach Zaara’s suite. A guard grants them entrance and Zaara breathes a sigh of relief that they have the place to themselves, at least for now. “Make yourselves at home,” she instructs the men, eyeing the door to the guest room and fumbling around for the key. “I’ve been keeping it locked so no one makes a mess in there. The maids already have their hands full cleaning this place, and I hate to add to their workload.”

 

Bucky barely registers her words since he’s busy taking in all the grandeur and luxury. The suite seems a match for the rest of the palace with its French doors, chandeliers, bay windows, and fancy furniture. He actually shivers. “I’m staying _here?”_

Zaara nods and pulls him close as if to warm him even though the Wakandan climate is quite mild. His body stiffens slightly from the contact, but he instructs it to relax and it obeys him. She knows his shiver had nothing to do with his body temperature—not anymore. “Well, don’t get too used to it. Our real home is no palace. We’re only guests here for a couple more weeks. T’Challa has been very generous.”

 

Even Steve has to admit the king has given Zaara the royal treatment. The suite is nothing short of palatial. Nevertheless, toys are scattered all over the floor; crayons, markers, dolls, and all kinds of figurines including sharks, dinosaurs, and gorillas make it seem as if a toy chest exploded. “Sorry about the mess,” Zaara says absently, making her way carefully through the debris. “I’m keeping the maids out another day. Someone needs to learn how to pick up after themselves.”

 

Bucky raises his eyebrows at Steve, but his friend only shrugs.

 

“This is the guest room,” Zaara sighs as she opens the door. “Oh, wait. Let me check the bed. No one’s slept in it, but I still might have to change the sheets anyways.”

 

Steve just stands there, holding Bucky up. His friend is tired and starting to slump and Steve senses it is not just physical weariness overtaking him. These are fancier digs than either of them has ever seen in their lives and that includes Stark Tower. He can barely suppress a shiver himself and a tiny part of him longs for his relatively modest suite in the servants’ wing since he’s not at all sure he will ever manage to feel comfortable in a place like this. “It’s fine.”

 

“No,” Zaara disagrees. “No, it isn’t. Not unless you like sleeping with vermin.”

 

The men don’t know what to think, but they dare not interfere. It’s enough for them to keep still and take in her beauty, the resplendent energy that practically wraps itself around them with every smile and touch. Zaara doesn’t seem at all affected by the luxury. The space belongs to her, though her presence expresses itself more in the toys and books than in the velvet settees and decadent brocade drapes. Steve smiles to himself and finally feels a little more at ease knowing they are going to be around that energy for a good long while. _We may be staying in a palace, but the real beauty is right here in front of us._

 

Zaara giggles as she folds back the silk comforter and digs around the bedding. “Oh, not so bad. It’s only a twig. I don’t think there’s anything else . . .” She pulls back more of the covers and it all looks clean. “Well, then. Shall we change the sheets? I can, if you like.” She dusts off the spot where she found the twig, but, luckily, there is no other debris in sight.

 

The men remain silent, but she takes no notice.

 

“You know, I kept this room locked. I wonder how the little monsters managed to get in here?” she wonders to herself. “Oh, that reminds me. I’d better look under the bed. Bucky, why don’t you lie down? I’m sorry to make you wait so long. I know you’re tired.”

 

Steve helps Bucky to the bed while Zaara crouches down to search underneath it. “Oh, thank God!” she shrieks, pulling out a huge plastic gorilla. “We’d be in big trouble if this went missing.”

 

“Yeah. I bet,” Steve agrees in a daze. It’s a lot to take in. He has Bucky back and they are staying in a royal palace suite cluttered with dozens of toys, more toys than he’s ever seen in his life. If he were a kid, this would be paradise. Not that he’s terribly excited by the dolls but the art supplies, the animals, and the figurines would have occupied him for years on end as a boy. Hell, he kind of wants to play with those Roman gladiators, Egyptian chariots, and sea monsters right now.

 

Zaara deposits the massive gorilla on a table in the parlour and returns to them. She can read Bucky’s discomfort and emotional exhaustion from a mile away. It only makes sense. She imagines Steve must be feeling a lot of the same things since both men are understandably caught in a rupture between past and present. No matter how uncomfortable it makes them, they need to feel these feelings in order to move through them _._ “How are we doing, Bucky?” she asks quietly.

 

Steve looks at his friend and his face darkens. _Something’s wrong._

 

“Tell him, Bucky. Please,” Zaara urges him softly.

 

“I’m not worth this,” Bucky Barnes murmurs and suddenly the two of them are back on the quinjet, Bucky questioning all that Steve has done for him knowing his friends will end up in prison for trying to save him. He’s done horrible, unspeakable things. _Even if I didn’t want to do them, I did them_. _I’m responsible. And now, I’m in a palace, tethered to some crazy, beautiful, telepathic dame and lying in a giant-sized bed_. _Being treated like a king_.

 

Steve feels his sadness rise up again, but Zaara won’t have it. “Bucky, we’re going to put an end to this right now,” she announces brusquely, but not unkindly. “You have too much healing to do, and I have no time for your protests. Look at her.”

 

Bucky swallows, feeling more than a little scared. “Look at who?” he whispers.

 

“Her,” Zaara repeats in a tone that won’t be broached. Steve and Bucky raise their eyes at the same moment.

 

In the corner of the room stands a modest, middle-aged woman. Her image appears three dimensional, but it sparkles just enough to tell them she is not fully real. Dark hair streaked with grey, glittering blue eyes, and a simple, shapeless house dress remind Zaara of her own grandmother. The woman moves as though she is breathing and stares directly at Bucky. Love shines in her eyes.

 

“I’m not just doing this for you. Or Steve,” Zaara continues in a firm voice. “I’m doing this for _her_. I know you feel like you’re a different person now, James Buchanan Barnes. But no matter what you do or who you think you are, you’re still her son.”

 

The two men marvel at the vivid image, utterly astonished. _Mrs. Barnes, just like I remember her,_ Steve gasps, blinking back tears. It’s been a hell of a long time, more than seventy years, and he hasn’t really thought much about her since waking from the ice, not since the war after Bucky fell from the train and he wrote her a letter explaining what had happened to her son. It’s one of the saddest memories of his life and thinking about her has just been too painful, even after all these years. Nevertheless, love brims over his sadness; images and memories of Mrs. Barnes flood him with gratitude. _She was a great lady._ The woman who brought James Buchanan Barnes into the world will always hold a special place in his heart.

 

Bucky fights back the tears, though he’s not exactly certain what he’s crying for. It’s been so, so long and his mother is like a dream to him. But here she is, standing in his room, seemingly alive but something like an angel, and staring into his eyes.

 

“I’m a mother,” Zaara confesses suddenly, swallowing the lump in her throat. She knows Bucky’s not ready to feel all these feelings; in fact, she can’t quite find where they are inside him. In her mind, she can sense the anomaly, the psychic barrier she found in him before he woke, and Bucky’s tears give her an inkling of something big and raw that hides behind it. Her voice lowers until it is barely above a whisper. “Bucky. I have a son. And I know that if anything ever happened to him, I’d want someone to help him, to look after him and do for him what I’m doing for you. You deserve this, Bucky. And more importantly, so does she.”

 

The vision of Mrs. Barnes gracefully starts to fade, the sparkles spiraling gently to the floor until they vanish. Zaara knows how badly Bucky needs to cry, but he can’t. Not now, not yet. The tears stop. He’s swallowing his feelings, at least, that is her best guess since she cannot find those feelings and she’s not sure where they’ve gone so she’s not about to interfere. It’s too much, too soon. She almost regrets showing him the image, but she knows he needed to see it. He needs to connect with his past, to remember something of his old life, his family, and the Bucky Barnes he used to be. He’ll put his mother behind him for now, until he’s ready to mourn the loss of that life properly.

 

Steve only stares at Zaara in shock, his thoughts roughly yanked abruptly back to the present. _A son? She has two children?_ He realizes Zaara hasn’t told him much about her personal life, not much more than the story about the toothpaste. Their conversations have centered, for the most part, on Bucky and mutants so that Steve suddenly realizes now how little he knows about her. _But I guess I’m going to find out soon._ And, he likes that. He wants to get to know her, to learn about the children’s father and where he fits into the picture. But it also makes him feel somewhat disappointed. He’s going to have to shelve these exquisite feelings for her if there’s another man in her life.

 

“Bucky,” Zaara says, louder. “Why don’t we let you get some rest before the kids come home, OK? I’m going to block out the dreams, at least the bad ones. Don’t worry about them, you won’t have any. You’ll have a peaceful rest and your body’s going to get everything it needs to recover completely this time. You can sleep as long as you like. I’ll keep the children out. Oh, look--you even have your own bathroom!” She cackles. There are definite perks to staying in a palace. A guest bathroom for a guest bedroom? She had not noticed it before. Who would have thought it? She nods at Steve and he gets up from the bed. In a rather motherly manner, Zaara tucks Bucky in his sheets and caresses his cheek. “Go to sleep, Bucky Barnes. Don’t worry about anything. We’ve got your back.”

 

“What’ll you do if I don’t cooperate, ma’am?” he cracks in a half-hearted attempt to tease her. It’s easier than thinking about the sparkling woman and he’s so, so tired. Already, his mind is fading from consciousness.

 

“Um, no dessert tonight?” Zaara scratches her head, trying to think of something.

 

“Just kidding,” he grins fully now, eyes closing.

 

“Good,” Steve raises his eyebrows. “Otherwise she might kill you and eat you. She threatened to do that to me once.”

 

Zaara huffs.

 

“Wouldn’t be a bad way to go, having a beautiful dame kill you and eat you,” Bucky muses, eyes still closed, though he cracks a naughty smile.

 

“Go to sleep, Bucky,” Zaara narrows her eyes at Steve and deliberately plants a tender kiss upon Bucky’s brow. When she turns her back, Bucky opens his eyes and gives Steve a triumphant, shit-eating grin.

 

 _Classic_ , Steve pouts.

 

“Yeah,” Zaara confirms as she walks out the door. “I know. Your first kiss since 1945. You’ve got a lot of catching up to do, soldier.”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” he nods and submits to slumber.

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

As he follows Zaara back into the parlour, Steve feels both awkward and delighted. His heart just about sings for Bucky who’s finally safe, warm, and getting a chance to heal. It’s everything Steve ever wanted. But now, as he watches Zaara tidy up around the suite, it occurs to him that he wants more. He wants _this_ , though he shouldn’t. He _can’t_ —not with the sort of life he leads. After Sokovia, he told Tony Stark that one man went into the ice and another came out, but who was he kidding? The woman walking silently around the room, quietly picking up toys and depositing them into baskets, tugs at his heart. She’s like an angel to them, all light and healing. But she’s a mother, too. He has no doubt her intentions towards Bucky are sincere though she certainly comes with a great deal of baggage. Powers, mutants, even children--it all makes him wonder how it could ever work between them. But her incredible scent keeps calling to him and he’s having a terrible time trying to block it out. He resolves to stay objective and keep his distance as best he can. He admires her tough spirit and vows to ignore the jealousy that arises each time she touches his best friend. Two days ago, he was her prisoner. Now, he is her guest. Steve quickly starts picking up the toys with her.

 

“Steve. You don’t have to,” she protests shyly.

 

“I don’t mind at all,” he murmurs, not stopping for an instant. “But I think the children should be doing it, not their mother.”

 

“You’re right,” she admits and gives a sigh before stopping. “Let me give you a newsflash, Steve. I’m not the perfect parent. I try. We have more rules in place at home, though I can’t say we’re very organized. I work long hours here with the girls, and the kids feel like they’re on vacation. Sometimes it takes all my energy just to be with them. The housework comes last.”

 

He nods, grateful for the tiny window into her life.

 

She laughs. “You know, one of my friends has this sign up in her living room that says: _Please excuse the mess. My children are making memories._ I guess that’s the best-case scenario. But my kids seem to thrive in chaos.”

 

“Are you raising them alone?” Steve braces himself, knowing he’s just asked a very personal question. He realizes he’d find out eventually, but he’s tired of wondering. It would help him navigate this new and rather intimate living situation with her, or at least that is the excuse he gives himself. The truth is, he’s greedy to know anything about her.

 

Zaara presses her lips tightly together, Sphinx-like. “Yes. I’m a single parent.” She waits for him to ask about a father, but he doesn’t, so she relaxes a bit and adds, “But I can’t say I’m really raising them alone. My friends are like family, and I have lots of them at the school. They help me out quite a bit. I miss them, actually. So do the kids.”

 

“Ellie, right? And what’s your son’s name?” Steve asks, not knowing why he keeps pressing for information. He simply cannot wait to find out.

 

“Henry,” she smiles with a great deal of affection. “It’s a family name. He’s named for my great uncle who served in the Pacific. His middle name is Louie, for another great uncle who served in France.”

 

“It’s a good name,” Steve admits, not trusting his own curiosity. “Did your uncles make it back?”

 

Zaara nods. “Yes. Louie passed away a few years ago. He was eighty-eight. Henry made it to ninety-one. They both had lots of kids, grandkids, and great-grandkids. They led good, long lives and were like grandfathers to me since I never knew my own.”

 

Steve feels a familiar pang in his chest. There’s so much to grieve it makes him wonder if it will ever end.

 

“I’m sorry,” Zaara adds, realizing how hard it must be for him to hear it.

 

“Don’t be,” Steve grins half-heartedly. “It’s good to know someone had a happy ending.”

 

“And you and Bucky are going to have happy endings of your own,” Zaara adds softly, looking him at him so kindly it makes him feel like a starving man. “You deserve it—both of you.”

 

“I want to hear all about the school,” Steve demurs, unwilling to contemplate his own future at the moment or the feelings she’s giving him deep down in his bones. “How you do things.”

 

“You must have lots of questions,” Zaara tilts her chin and acknowledges his curiosity. “And I bet you’re wondering about all the stuff that’s been happening in the world over the last few years.”

 

“Actually, I am,” he admits. It’s hard for him not to. “But first, I want to thank you  . . .”

 

“You’re welcome,” she interrupts, anxious to avoid the burden of his gratitude. _How could I not help, after everything that’s happened to Bucky? He’s not only a war hero, he’s a damn good man who’s done more for the world than I ever have. He deserves it._

 

“No,” Steve shakes his head, insisting she hear him out. “What you’re doing for me, for us, I can’t thank you enough. I can never tell you how much it means . . .”

 

She relents and allows Steve his moment, resting her eyes on his face, trying to accept all the emotions that flow out of him towards her. His wonder and gratitude seem unwarranted, in her opinion. _Doesn’t he know Bucky deserves my help? We owe you both for the sacrifices you’ve made. You think I’m an angel, just wait’ll you see what a mess I really am._ “I only wish I could have done something sooner,” she sighs, mostly to herself.

 

“Well, you’re doing it now,” Steve asserts briskly, hating to see her regret. Those exquisite feelings still linger inside him, hovering even in the midst of his sincere rush of gratitude. “And I couldn’t be more grateful.”

 

She casts down her eyes and shakes her head. “What do you say we make some coffee? Leave the rest of the toys. It gives me something to guilt trip them on.”

 

“Guilt trip?” Steve always struggles to keep up with the new slang. “I think I have a sense of what that means.”

 

“All mothers love spreading guilt,” Zaara chuckles. “We live for it. Making our kids feel guilty is a true pleasure in life.”

 

“I hope that’s not your only pleasure in life,” Steve raises an eyebrow, surprised by his own impetuousness. _Now where’d that come from?_

 

“No. It isn’t,” Zaara blushes slightly. _He can’t have guessed the way I feel about him—can he?_ “I’m already thinking of ways to guilt trip both you and Bucky since you’re staying with us. I plan to treat you like part of the family. House rules, you know.”

 

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Steve grins back, secretly pleased to have made her blush. He follows her into the relatively small but opulent kitchen that boasts all of the modern conveniences and tries not to notice the way her hips sway as she moves. _I gotta hit the brakes on these feelings for her. They won’t help anybody. Not now._ He clears his throat. “So,” he begins hesitantly. “I was wondering about mutants and all the things that’ve been happening in the world . . .”

 

“Stealth is our middle name,” Zaara nods, amused by the caution in his voice. Steve is nothing if not persistent when he wants to know something. “We work in the shadows. I think I told you a mutant’s first defense is anonymity. Let me start with those aliens in New York. If you go through the records, you might find a few anomalies in the data. Mind you, we got there a little late, but Pete took down dozens of those nasty soldiers. Bobby and Storm stopped a few of those big beasts, and the girls did some damage, too.”

 

“What did _you_ do?” he asks tremulously.

 

Zaara casts her eyes down yet again, listening intently to the sound of coffee trickling through the filter. “I don’t really like to discuss my work.”

 

Steve just stares at her, silent, waiting.

 

“I killed quite a few of them,” she finally says quietly, watching the high-speed coffee maker work its magic. “I don’t like killing things, not even bugs. Those aliens, the Chitauri, they were something like humanoid insects. They were bred to be an army—I saw it in their minds. They started out as larvae and never had parents. They connected to something like a hive mind, but their instincts were pretty basic. The hive suppressed all their other instincts to make them kill. When Tony Stark cut off the connection, well, you remember what happened.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve says dimly, his own thoughts suddenly a thousand miles away. Sometimes he really cannot believe the life he has led since waking from the ice. _Does she mean what I think she means?_ “Did you—I mean, was that you? _All_ of them?”

 

Zaara’s shoulders hunch down and she appears tremendously guilty. With a solemn nod, she confirms his thought. “Yes.” She pauses. “All of them.”

 

Steve is not sure what to think. After a while, he figures out what to say. “I guess it was easier since they weren’t actually human.”

 

“I don’t know,” she shakes her head. “I try not to think about it too much or I’ll end up hating myself.”

 

“You saved lots of lives,” Steve points out, and a new energy takes hold of him. He so badly wants to hold her, comfort her, his arms practically ache to wrap themselves around her. “Human lives.” He’s seen soldiers regret killing before, but it’s not as if they had any choice in it. But Zaara’s not a soldier, and he feels as if he ought to embrace her. She doesn’t deserve to suffer for saving the world from the aliens. “Zaara _,_ we’re not living in wartime. This is just part of life now for . . . for people like us. We're facing these new kinds of threats, nothing any of us have ever known before. Those aliens would have killed everyone in New York. You shouldn’t regret what you had to do. I just wish you could have told us you were there.”

 

She raises her eyes to meet his and she can read his sincerity, as if he truly understands the agony of her choice. Clearing her throat, she continues her confession. “You know we operate in the shadows. I had to make it look as if something else caused it or people would suspect—that’s why I waited for the portal to close. And as for the Triskelion, well, that was my bad. I knew things were going down in Shield. I just didn’t know what and when. Too many minds to track and they compartmentalize.” She becomes increasingly uncomfortable and focuses her eyes on the coffee again.

 

“What did you know?” Steve asks warily, recalling his past exchanges with Fury and Pierce. He still hasn't forgiven Fury for the cover-up.

 

“I knew there were traitors,” Zaara admits before she pours the fresh brew into two mugs. “That Hydra compromised a lot. But we’ve had our own traitors to deal with, losses to endure, children to protect. I figured that as long as Hydra left us alone, I’d keep them off my radar.”

 

Steve nods, but she doesn’t fail to see the disappointment in his eyes. She hands him his coffee and leads them back into the sitting room, patting her hand on the chair next to hers and sighs, guilt overtaking her yet again. “It was a terrible choice. I was wrong. I would have stopped those ships once they launched but not before a lot of people died--I wouldn’t have found out in time to save them all. You saved millions of lives, Steve. I won’t forget that.” She lowers her eyes in shame. “And I won’t ignore Hydra anymore. Why do you think I took you prisoner?”

 

He smiles at that. She smiles back hesitantly, hoping for his forgiveness. “As for Sokovia . . . It happened too fast. I knew about the Ultrons, you couldn’t fail to hear about them. But they were popping up all over the world. It made no sense. Even with these powers, I’m really not very good with technology. Forge was starting to track them, but he couldn’t identify any patterns. I have no way to detect robots and even if I did, Ultron had no mind to read. Telepathy only reads lifeforms. Once I found out about the Maximoff twins, it was already too late. Sokovia was up in the air and we knew we wouldn’t make it there in time. But we were on the jet, anyways, trying.”

 

“Could you have stopped it?” Steve asks, transfixed by the notion of one person possessing such vast power.

 

“I honestly don’t know,” she confesses. “I’ve never tried to move an entire city with my mind before. Thank God you Avengers took care of it.”

 

Steve nods. “Sounds like we’ve both had our share of close calls. But we could have used your help.”

                                                                                                                                   

She nods. “Ain’t that the truth? We can talk more about this other stuff later. Just . . . I hope you know that I’m sorry. The X-men need to be out in the world again--we know that now. We can do a lot to help. It’s probably time for us to meet the Avengers anyways, I guess,” she looks at him shyly now for some reason.

 

“The X-men?” Steve asks, puzzled.

 

“Hoo boy,” Zaara exhales. “I’ve got a lot of explaining to do. Why don’t we wait until Bucky’s ready to hear it? That way, I don’t have to tell it all twice. Besides, I need to check in with the boss before I say much more, for authorization.”

 

“Alright,” Steve agrees reluctantly, quite distracted by her beauty. It’s the way she looks at him, the way she smiles. She blushes often, trying to hide her feelings and she seems to feel guilty a lot of the time. It’s no wonder, given her ability to practically destroy an alien army in one shot, though she certainly doesn’t pride herself on her powers. It also sounds as if she has a very difficult job at the school. _And with the X-men, whoever they are._ He imagines what it would be like, trying to do everything he does and be a parent at the same time. _Seems impossible, but maybe Barton has it all figured out,_ he ruminates. But even if Barton made it look easy, Steve knows that it can’t be. The thought of Barton returns him to the problem of the Raft.

 

“My friends,” he frowns, hating to have forgotten them. “They’re still in the Raft.”

 

“That floating prison hell,” she murmurs absently.

 

“Yeah,” Steve confirms. “Ross put them there after the fight at the airport. He won’t let them go. And I can’t leave them.”

 

“Of course not,” she agrees. She frowns and closes her eyes. “One second, please.”

 

Steve pauses, watching her face contort for a moment. “What’s that?”

 

She takes a breath. “Bad dream. It’s OK. I got rid of it.”

 

“Bucky?” he asks poignantly.

 

“It’s alright,” she opens her eyes again.

 

“How did you get rid of it?” he has to ask.

 

“Mmmm. . .” she ponders how to explain it to him. “I guess it’s something like changing the channel on the television. I just re-direct him away from it, tune him into something else.”

 

Steve nods, a bit stunned. “I can’t thank you enough.”

 

She blushes again. “I’m happy to do it. It’s really not that hard. But, the Raft. We can stop there and pick up your friends on our way home. How about that? Or, have they been waiting too long? Should we go and get them now?”

 

“We need to plan carefully,” Steve says, trying to contain his own excitement. It feels good to finally be able to do something about them. “It won’t be easy. I asked T’Challa weeks ago and he said his hands are tied by diplomacy, some sort of foreign relations agreement after Bucharest. Wakanda will help, but they have to do it in secret. And it sounds like you and the, the X-men, need to keep things quiet, too. We’ve got to find the best way.”

 

“Well, you’ve found it,” Zaara grins triumphantly. “Still . . . we’ll have to take Bucky with us. I can’t be separated from him. Not yet.”

 

They pause, considering their options in silence.

 

“You know,” Zaara finally says out loud. “I’d hate to make them wait two more weeks since it’s got to be awful for them. I can’t imagine what it’s like there, stuck in the dark, under water day and night. But if we wait until we leave Wakanda, it’s less likely to be traced back to T’Challa. God, why can’t Ross just let them go? He knows the truth about Zemo.”

 

“He won’t,” Steve confirms grimly. “He’s got them right where he wants them. He’d have me in there, too, if he could.”

 

“So, waiting two more weeks is probably best,” Zaara nods. “Bucky will have recovered physically and he can help us out, too. We need someone to drive the getaway car, after all. We’ll consult with T’Challa and he’ll probably give us back-up. But we can use my jet.”

 

“You have a jet?” Steve asks, amazed.

 

Zaara smiles widely. “We sure do. And now I’m glad we brought it. It’s going to come in handy.”

 

It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask about her jet's capabilities, but the door swings open and two whirlwinds burst through.

 

“MAMA MAMA MAMA!” the children cry in a continuous loop that actually hurts Steve’s ears. They run full force and slam into Zaara’s body so hard she barely manages to put down her coffee in time. Steve cringes in sympathy at the inevitable collision.

 

“Okay, okay, ow, that’s my gut, not on the neck, hi darlings, I’ve missed you, sweetheart,” and the hugs and kisses begin.

 

Steve looks on in wonder and his heart feels a very odd sort of ache as the girl and boy practically fly to their mother and shower her with affection. It is all very sweet for a moment until one elbows the other and they end up in a bit of brawl over who gets to sit in Zaara’s lap. The girl is the same wild-haired beauty he met two days ago but the boy is blonde and rosy-cheeked with blue-green eyes. He has a wickedly mischievous grin and never ceases his chant of “MAMA MAMA MAMA” as he curls his robust little body onto her lap only to jump out of it and throw himself back onto her again. Steve hates to interfere, but he feels compelled to do something to protect her. It would not surprise him if Zaara sports multiple bruises from the impact on her body. Using his best Captain America voice, he stands up and lets his words boom over the din. “ _Hello, children_.”

 

They freeze, their mouths gaping, instantly intimidated. They had ignored him in favor of their mother, whom they greatly missed, but now, they take in the sight of the tall Captain with wonder. “Ellie, Henry,” Zaara chides them. “Where are your manners? This is Captain Rogers. Please say hello.”

 

They immediately scamper and take shelter behind her though there is barely room on the settee for the three of them. In the next moment, a slender young woman enters the suite. “Miss Zaara,” she breathes, eyes shining with tears. “I have it! I have it!”

 

Zaara leaps up from her chair, breathless, and the children almost fall onto the floor. “You’re kidding me. Did it . . . .?”

 

“It did, praise the Lord,” she exhales. “Just now. We ran all the way here just to tell you.”

 

“Oh, thank God,” Zaara sobs before she can stop herself. Steve stares in surprise, then watches as the girl opens a towel and shows something to Zaara. “Oh, God,” Zaara moans, throwing her arms around the girl. “Zetha, thank you, thank you. I’m so glad it’s over. Three and half days. My God.”

 

“Mama, Mama!” Ellie squeals. “I found it, Mama! With Zetha’s help!”

 

“I hope you washed your hands,” Zaara stares hard at her and Ellie looks guilty.

 

“She did, Ms. Zaara,” Zetha assures her, laughter mingling with her tears. “But Henry, you promise NEVER to do that again. Right, kajanje?”

 

Henry curls up into a tight little ball on the chair, shy, his eyes glancing furtively at Steve.

 

“Answer her, Henry,” Zaara scolds.

 

“No,” Henry whispers meekly.

 

“He told me, Ms. Zaara, that he never wants to have another x-ray again,” Zetha  nods solemnly.

 

“What happened?” Steve asks, feeling a bit scared for the child.

 

“LET ME SHOW HIM! LET ME!” Ellie shrieks, and they all jump at the same time, her voice piercing right through their skulls. Ellie grabs the cloth from Zetha and runs over to Steve, leaving him to wonder if the child is capable of walking for she seems to run everywhere she wants to go. The girl unfolds the cloth most dramatically and Steve’s sharp eyes immediately spot a clear, glass marble with a yellow streak of ribbon stretching across the middle.

 

“Poop,” Henry nods sagely.

 

“HE POOPED IT OUT!” Ellie shrieks with absolute delight.

 

“And he’s never going to put another marble in his mouth EVER again,” Zaara announces, more than a little bitter. “Zetha’s been kind enough to keep an eye on his, uh, bathroom activities while I was busy with Bucky,” she explains.

 

Steve immediately feels guilty to have torn her away from her family.

 

“Bucky?” Ellie squeals. “I want Bucky.” All in all, the girl is delighted to have two men staying with them; two big, strong men who can toss her up in the air whenever she likes. She has no doubt Steve will accommodate her for she adores his kind eyes and absolutely loves the way they sparkle at her.

 

“Ellie,” Zaara says sternly. “Bucky was a soldier, just like Uncle Logan. He was wounded and he only has one arm. You can’t run around him, scare him, or shriek at him. Okay, Henry? You two have to play gentle. No punchy punchy. He’s been through a lot and we’re going to take care of him.”

 

“Take care,” Henry repeats dutifully. Steve marvels at the little guy with his perfectly round, cherubic face and the bright light in his eyes. Aside from that light, he doesn’t look a great deal like Zaara with his blonde hair, but something about the shape of his mouth recalls her. The rest of him is a mystery. Ellie, on the other hand, is practically her carbon copy, though her hair is a shade darker than her mother’s, her eyes a brighter blue.

 

“Yes, Henry,” Zaara nods, patting him and playing fondly with that blonde hair. “You need to do your part to take care of yourself and stay safe. That means you _never_ put toys in your mouth. If I see you put anything that’s not food into your mouth, I’ll have to take it away for a long time.”

 

“Bucky?” Henry asks. “I want Bucky.”

 

Zaara smiles. “One track mind. Alright, Bucky is sleeping right now. You’ll get to meet him later. We need to clean up this mess before he wakes up.”

 

“Let me help,” Zetha begs.

 

“No, please Zetha. I can’t thank you enough for your help, but we need some family time now. And please don’t worry—these things happen. What T’Challa doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Zaara winks at her.

 

“Thank you, Miss Zaara. Thank you,” Zetha bows rather formally and leaves, wiping a tear from her eye.

 

“Okay. Now, we clean up—“

 

“Stories!” Ellie shrieks.

 

“Stories!” Henry pipes up, right behind his sister.

 

“Well, I know we haven’t seen much of each other in a couple days,” Zaara begins, looking at Steve as if she is afraid he will judge her. “So, I’ll cave. We clean up afterwards, though. OK?”

 

The three of them cuddle up on the couch, Steve still sitting nearby. He listens while she reads since he has nothing better to do. They’re a beautiful family and seem so close in this moment, so peaceful despite the volume and spitfire he witnessed only minutes ago. The reading really does calm the children down, though brother and sister continue to vie for the best spot near their mother. They have no choice but to content themselves with sitting on either side of her.

 

He finds himself lost in the story. It’s a novel about talking animals and the chapter tells of a war council. It all seems very strange to him and he wonders what it might have been like to have had a giant and a team of cheetahs at his disposal when he was storming the beach back in Normandy, but the children are absolutely riveted by the tale, even the younger one. He can tell the author knows his way around the battle field and takes note of his name: C.S. Lewis.

 

When the chapter is finally done, not without several minutes of squirming on Henry’s part, they put down the book. Zaara claps her hands, counts backwards from ten, and the children rush to put away as many of the toys as they can in a few seconds’ time. The place is still quite a mess, however, but Zaara only shrugs sheepishly. Getting the children to clean up after themselves tires her out more than doing the actual work herself. Besides, she has a lot on her mind.

 

“Bucky’s close to waking,” she directs her words at Steve, taking advantage of a five second window of silence before the children start hollering for her attention once again. “Want to give him a heads-up before they tear in there?” she shouts, her voice nearly drowned out as the boisterous jumps and hollers rev up yet again.

 

He nods, not even trying to fight it.

 

Zaara sighs. Though she has missed the children terribly over the past couple of days, she still longs for adult conversation and with Steve and Bucky around, she might actually get some. Indeed, it has been one of her favourite things about returning to Wakanda. Working long hours away from the children makes her feel like an adult again. Sure, she talks to the rest of the staff at the X-mansion, many of them her dearest friends. But they rarely get a moment alone without children.

 

Steve turns from them, still marveling at the chaos. Barton’s home life seemed far more organized and peaceful, even with legos scattered all over the floor. He worries that Bucky may have trouble adjusting. _At least it’ll be less dangerous than a fire fight and a little less noisy. Why, it might even be good for him to be around so much life_. He has to admit the children are healthy and beautiful, though their laughter and madness present a rather new experience for him. The children he’d meet and greet after the USO shows always went home to their own beds, not to the room next to his. He suddenly realizes any illusions he has harbored about family life are going to be very quickly shattered. Zaara seems to have her hands full but she is no less lovely to him and he still adores being near her, even though he rather hates to admit it to himself. And the children are not going to be around every moment of the day. Are they?

 

Henry seems a sturdy young lad. Already, he crawls about on the floor, making animal noises and staging fights between plastic polar bears and dragons. It is quite charming to watch and Steve finds himself fascinated by his cherubic face, so chubby and full of mischief. It would be a delight to sketch it, when he gets the chance. The boy glances up at him shyly, waving a plastic gorilla before he tosses it at his head. “RAWWRRRR!” he roars, and Steve laughs, grateful it just missed his toe. _That would have hurt,_ he tells himself. He doesn’t know why he feels fascinated by the boy who appears so different from his wild-haired sister. They are like two peas in a pod, thick as thieves at one moment only to explode at each other the next. But the boy simply captivates him. Steve never had animals to play with as a child though he remembers his toy soldiers quite fondly and now, he finds himself crouching down upon the floor by Henry, longing to enter into his world. The boy’s imaginative play forms a chaotic and delightful mess. The child is fond of sound effects and loves to wrestle, his physical play venturing quickly into full body contact.

 

Steve lets him push him around a little bit until the two of them wind up giggling on the floor, Steve flat on his back and Henry sitting on top of his chest, huffing like a gorilla. Zaara laughs, but issues a stern warning. “No face and no eyes, Henry. And, no neck. Otherwise Steve will have to stop. Alright?”

 

“Yes, Mama,” Henry chimes dutifully, but the next moment Steve has to dodge his tiny fists yet again and it makes him grateful for his supersoldier reflexes. Henry likes to fight dirty, but Steve doesn’t stop him since Zaara’s not looking. They continue for a while until he hears Zaara’s footsteps come near.

 

“Bucky’s waking now. He can hear us. Why don’t you go check on him, get him ready for the hurricane?” she puts her hand on Steve’s shoulder to stop the playfight. Her touch makes him shiver and he gets up off the floor, smiling at her. “Having fun?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve admits shyly. He’s holding it all in, the feelings he has for this woman, the excitement of finally having Bucky back in his life, and the new, warm sensation of being around a family. He’s hesitant, fearful of allowing himself to get used to it all. They make him feel welcome here, almost as if he belongs. It’s so different from anything he’s known since he woke from the ice or even since he joined the army, and he likes it—too much. But he leaves them anyways and goes into Bucky’s room, bringing his mind back to his friend. His best friend.

 

_I’m all he’s got._

 

“Hey, Buck,” he murmurs as he steps into the room. He closes the door and takes a seat on the massive, king-sized bed as casually as he can.

 

Bucky sits up, his back supported by several overstuffed pillows. “Guess this is what it’s like to live like a king, huh, pal?”

 

Steve grins. “Guess so. You ready for what’s out there?”

 

“She showed me,” he shrugs helplessly.

 

“Showed you?” Steve asks, thrilled and utterly perplexed. “What do you mean?”

 

“In my mind,” Bucky explains patiently. “What they looked like, what’s going on out there.”

 

“Did she mean to?” Steve asks carefully, worried for some reason he can’t quite explain.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky grins a little. “She wanted to prepare me for the hurricane.”

 

“They are like a hurricane,” Steve nods. “You ready, then?”

 

Bucky sighs. “Dunno. But I’m gonna meet ‘em sooner or later. Might as well be now.”

 

Steve gets up, ready to help him out of bed. But the extra sleep has restored more strength than he realized and Bucky requires no assistance at all. His body seems to have adapted to the mild Wakandan climate quite flawlessly now that he is thoroughly thawed out from the ice. The little shooting pains have disappeared and his body seems to be his own again. It hasn’t been this way, not really, since he pulled Steve out of the Potomac. It’s a thrill for him to have this sense of freedom, even if his mind is still tethered to Zaara’s. He can feel it, the constant sensation of having someone attached to him, of never truly being alone with his thoughts, and it’s nothing like being under Hydra’s control. Zaara’s presence soothes him, hems him in gently and inexorably so that he feels none of the bad feelings, none of his usual fears. What will his life be like now? The possibilities are endless.

 

“What’s it like?” Steve asks suddenly and the question feels so intimate he almost regrets saying it out loud.

 

“You want to know,” Bucky says to himself, confirming the feeling in his gut. “I figured that.”

 

“Yeah, I guess so,” he admits, the faintest hint of a blush entering his cheeks.

 

Bucky doesn’t need to see it. He recognizes that tone of voice since he’s only ever heard it when Steve asks him about a girl. “Well, she talks to me,” Bucky begins, puzzling at how to explain. He never really talked much about his feelings, not even before the war. Yet, this is what it’s all about—feeling. He can’t explain the emotional part to Steve or to himself. Still, he gives it a try. “But even when she doesn’t, it’s like she’s there. All the time. Even when I’m sleeping.”

 

“Do you see her?” Steve asks, getting jealous again in spite of himself. _I gotta ease off on these feelings of mine. It ain’t helping him._

 

“Nah,” Bucky muses, a bit confused though he does feel happiness and that in itself is a revelation. “But I can _feel_ her. I know she’s there. I felt it a little while ago, when she cried. The boy—Henry, he swallowed that marble. It scared the hell out of her, I could tell, and she was so relieved it came out.” Bucky grins. “She couldn’t hide that from me.”

 

Steve nods, his eyebrows rising. “She said the tether goes both ways.”

 

“It sure does,” he nods. “But it’s alright. I don’t mind it. Not at all. She’s a peach.”

 

“She said you’d probably choose it instead of going back on ice,” Steve suggests gently.

 

“No kidding,” Bucky chuckles. “Live in a palace, my mind tethered to some beautiful dame? How could I ever turn that down?”

 

Steve chuckles with him, still trying to reign in his jealousy. Indeed, he can’t believe his luck and he can’t trust it, either. _This is all too good to be true,_ he thinks. _Except that it is true. It’s real._ _It’s happening—to both of us._ Through the ornate wooden door, he can hear Zaara chastise her kids, her voice ringing with love and exasperation.

 

Bucky cackles. “They sure get on her nerves. Really, if this is the worst I’ve got to deal with, it ain’t so bad. Like going on vacation compared to what I been through.”

 

Steve grins in genuine happiness.

 

“Let’s get outta here,” Bucky murmurs, readying himself.

 

“You got it, pal,” he replies.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. All I Do is Dream of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domesticity. Lots of it.
> 
> A very long chapter--sorry!

 

 

 

 

 

_All I do is dream of you_

_The whole night through._

_With the dawn I still go on_

_Dreamin’ of you._

_You’re every thought, you’re everything_

_You’re every song I ever sing_

_Summer, winter, autumn, and spring._

_And were there more than twenty-four hours in a day_

_Oh, they’d be spent in sweet content_

_Just dreamin’ away._

_When skies are gray, when skies are blue,_

_Morning, noon, and nighttime, too_

_All I do the whole day through_

_Is dream of you._

 

When the men make their entrance, it is like stepping into the midst of some bizarre explosion. The toys that had been picked up and put away are scattered once again, everything all over the floor, and Steve swears Ellie is practically hovering up in the air shrieking though her feet promptly return to the ground again. Henry’s face, streaked with red and green markers, simply beams at them. His sister speaks first.

 

“Hello, Bucky,” the young girl greets him in a surprisingly calm voice. Her body stills and for once she does not run but walks over to him quite deliberately and throws her arms around the former Winter Soldier, giving him a fierce hug.

 

Zaara bites her lip.

 

Bucky stiffens slightly but, to his credit, relaxes into her embrace and even strokes her hair with his fingers. “Why, hello there, you beautiful doll _._ ”

 

Ellie giggles. “I’m not a doll.”

 

“I know,” Bucky smiles back.

 

“I’m Ellie.”

 

“Hello, Ellie,” he croons, still stroking her hair.

“Bucky!” Henry squeals and bursts into a sudden run. Just before impact, Steve intervenes and scoops him up into his powerful arms. Henry laughs, kicking and squirming while Steve turns him upside down and swings him around in a circle, marveling at how natural and at ease he feels around the boy. When he entered Barton’s home, he had quite the opposite experience, as if he did not belong there at all. _But that’s not the case this time_. _It’s Zaara_ , he realizes. This is her home and these are her children and the experience is utterly different for him than being in the Barton homestead. Henry has taken to him and he has taken to Henry in a way that completely undoes him. Henry doesn’t know who he is and doesn’t care. He only wants Steve to be his friend and playmate. That kind of acceptance refreshes him, invigorates his heart which simply burns with delight to see the look in Zaara’s eyes. Her son giggles and guffaws joyfully in his arms.

 

“Do me, do me!” Ellie jumps up and down, still clinging to Bucky.

 

“Kids!” Zaara calls, wincing. But she knows Bucky is alright with it before she can say another word.

 

“I got you, sweetheart,” Bucky grins and without any hesitation swings her up onto his hip. Even with only one arm, he is strong enough to give the girl quite a ride. She shrieks with delight while he rocks her to and fro and it doesn’t scare him one bit. He is in full control of himself, his body his own once again. In fact, the crazy horseplay actually makes him feel better and so it continues for quite some time since Steve and Bucky do not tire. The children hoot and holler while the men toss and turn them in all directions, hang them upside down, and spin them in circles.

 

Finally, Zaara intervenes. “Alright, alright everybody!” she calls, clapping her hands.

 

It is to no avail. The madness does not abate and the suite very quickly turns into some sort of crazy three ring circus. When Zaara has had enough, she has to practically pry Ellie’s body off of Bucky, who poses no resistance. It takes all her strength since Ellie refuses to let Bucky go and she is glad that she lifts weights because Ellie has gotten quite heavy and Zaara never uses telekinesis while parenting.

 

It only takes one look to halt Steve’s antics with Henry.

 

“Alright,” she announces, rolling up her sleeves and shocked to have them finally listening to her. “Let’s get ready for dinner. You can play outside when we’re done. This is getting a little too rough for indoors.”

 

One of the blessings of living in the palace is having dinner served in the suite each night. Zaara enjoys it thoroughly since the food always tastes great and she never has to clean up. The servers arrive within minutes and set the table. Zaara is relieved when the children mind their manners, more or less, even washing their hands without complaint. The men feel somewhat awkward at first, sitting at such a large table under a fancy chandelier, but the children’s smiles quickly put them at ease and they are delighted by the company. The talk, however, centers on Ellie’s ponies and Henry’s sharks. Zaara harbours no illusions about enjoying adult conversation in their company. Steve and Bucky are destined to become thoroughly versed in the world of My Little Pony. _It’s inevitable,_ she realizes and grins at each of them in turn, grateful for their patience with the children. She knows how demanding they can be.

 

Bucky doesn’t mind at all. The kids are a fantastic distraction from his own loneliness and he has bonded quickly with Ellie. Already, he thinks of her as his doll. He looks to Zaara with hesitation, wanting to do everything right, and she is there in his mind, holding him together, gently encouraging him to relax and enjoy himself without words. It is a soothing presence and he takes to it like white on rice since he can’t remember the last time he felt so good. _I could get used to this,_ he muses.

 

Zaara tenderly interrupts his train of thought. _You should._

He grins at her, sharing the secret.

 

Steve senses the link between them and watches them hold each other’s gaze. Though he’s thrilled that Zaara seems to be helping his friend, he feels somewhat bitter about it, too, and that piques him. _There’s no need to be jealous. If something develops between Bucky and Zaara, well, I should be happy for them. Soldiers tend to fall in love with nurses, at least that’s the way it happened to Ma and Pop._ He swallows and turns his thoughts to Henry, carefully using his napkin to wipe a splotch of spaghetti sauce off his cheek.

 

“Thank you,” Zaara aims her smile at Steve now, and it is positively radiant.

 

He blushes. “Spaghetti’s pretty messy.”

 

“It sure is,” she agrees, finding it sweet to connect with him for half a moment in the midst of an otherwise boisterous dinner table. They eat for a while until one of the servers politely interrupts them.

 

“You can send him in,” Zaara answers the question before it is asked. “Oops. Sorry about that.”

 

The server nods in surprise and allows a messenger entrance to their suite. “Madame,” he bows formally and hands her a rather fancy envelope. She thanks him and tears it open.

 

“His Most Royal Highness King T’Challa of Wakanda requests the pleasure of your company at his First Auspicious Wakandan State Dinner to be held in the Grand Ballroom of the Royal Palace in Birnin Zana . . .” her voice trails off.

 

“A state dinner?” Bucky mumbles in awe.

 

“Geez,” Zaara frowns, playing with the glistening foil folds. “Do I have to?”

 

“You’d better,” Steve warns her. “Looks pretty official.”

 

“And you’re the guest of honour,” Bucky adds, staring over her shoulder at the fancy script, eyebrows raised.

 

“Oh, man,” she murmurs just under her breath. “I was hoping to get out of here unscathed.”

 

“You knew about it?” Bucky asks in surprise.

 

“I suspected T’Chaka was planning it, before . . . before the attack in Vienna,” she finishes weakly.

 

Steve nods respectfully, gathering that Zaara was somewhat close to King T’Chaka.

 

“It is not just you, Madame,” the messenger bows politely and hands Steve a similar envelope.

 

“Me, too?” Steve is aghast. He tears open the envelope and reads the invitation with disbelief. “Well, how do you like that? Monkey suit, here I come.”

 

“Ha!” Zaara laughs.

 

“I want to dress like a monkey,” Henry pipes up.

 

“Me, too, kid,” Bucky agrees.

 

“The royal seamstress has requested a fitting this evening,” the messenger adds politely. “At your earliest convenience. If you please, Madame, she begged me to remind you she has very little time to assemble your wardrobes.”

 

“Right,” Zaara sighs. “Please tell her we would be honored. The sooner she has our measurements, the better, I suppose. Tell her she can come right over. Dinner’s almost done.”

 

The messenger bows and leaves them.

 

“Crap,” she says, rubbing her chin.

 

“Crap,” Henry repeats after her.

 

She sighs and puts her forehead in her hands. “I never get a break.”

 

“Why don’t you get a break, Mama?” Ellie asks innocently.

 

“We have to go to a fancy royal dinner, Ellie,” Zaara starts to explain.

 

“With King T’Challa?” she squeals. “I wanna come! Can I come? Please, please, please?”

 

“Honey,” Zaara attempts to placate her and wonders at the same time why she bothers. It never works. “It’s not for kids. It’s only for grown-ups.”

 

“I WANT TO GO,” the child insists stubbornly. Zaara drops it, knowing it’s no use arguing with Ellie when she acts this way. They spend the remainder of the meal discussing state dinners and how the invitation was a great honour. Wakanda rarely hosts state dinners, this being its first in many years. Zaara suspects that T’Chaka arranged it well before his demise. It will be held only a few days before her departure.

 

“T’Challa is probably only doing this for his father,” Zaara muses out loud.

 

“How do you know?” Steve asks, grateful that, with their mouths full, the children are finally listening and not shouting.

 

“Well, I know T’Chaka had the idea in his mind the last time I saw him. Actually, I had been planning to beg him not to go through with it,” she admits.

 

“Why, Mama, why?” Ellie chants. Bucky places his hand on her knee so she grins at him and keeps quiet.

 

“The Xaviar School’s been happy to help Wakanda and our relationship has been mutually beneficial,” Zaara explains patiently. “But . . . I don’t think there’s a need to recognize it in any official capacity. Both our school and Wakanda prefer to keep things quiet. It’s safer that way.”

 

“Safer?” Ellie asks.

 

“King T’Chaka was so happy with our work he wanted to honour us for it. I guess his son is just respecting his father’s wish, huh?” Zaara answers her daughter evasively since she is determined to keep any notion of danger far from Ellie’s mind. She wants Ellie’s childhood to remain as innocent as possible.

 

Steve understands the need for secrecy. Not liking the idea of a state dinner any more than Zaara, he rubs his chin and poses his question. “Guess there’s no way out of it, huh?”

 

“Let me know if you come up with an excuse,” she shrugs. “Bucky, I’m afraid you’re stuck going as my date—with the tether and all.”

 

The former Winter Soldier smirks. “Sounds such a real burden, doll.”

 

“Hey,” Ellie interjects. “I thought _I_ was your doll!”

 

“Sorry, doll,” Bucky gives her his sweetest smile and gently pinches her nose. “I’ll have to think of something else to call your Ma. As for a State Dinner, well, I’m not sure I wanna join any club that would have me as a member.”

 

“Bucky,” Zaara laughs, approving of his Groucho Marx impression.

 

“What about me?” Steve blurts out before he can stop himself. His face quickly reddens.

 

Zaara blushes back at him. “You think I should bring two dates? What the heck, it’s gonna be awkward enough as it is. The more the merrier.”

 

Still red, Steve grins at her and Bucky in turn.

 

Bucky rolls his eyes. _Punk._

 

Soon, the staff begins to take away the dishes and a rather ancient seamstress arrives. She takes Zaara’s measurements first in the privacy of her room while Steve and Bucky amuse the kids. But all too soon, it is Steve’s turn. He takes his place standing upon the huge ottoman in Zaara’s master bedroom. His eyes land on the enormous bed where she sleeps alone each night.

 

Zaara, unable to resist, suppresses her giggles as she watches Mrs. Bahati wrap the tape measure firmly around each section of Steve’s tall body, taking painfully precise measurements and murmuring to herself in Wakandan all the while. Zaara knows the matron wholeheartedly approves of Steve’s incredible physique, but the grouchy look on her face does little to betray it. Zaara has to chew on her lip to keep from laughing and is careful to block Bucky from her thoughts because she really can’t disagree—Steve’s body puts da Vinci’s Vitruvian man to shame. The palace seamstress jots down the size of his chest, arms, waist, inseam, and even his ass, Steve blushing all the while.

 

“Is this really necessary?” he asks when the ancient matron tugs the tape measure snugly over his buttocks. No woman has ever gripped him so firmly there before.

 

She mutters something in Wakandan and Zaara translates it with amusement, her fingers pressing onto her lips. “Yes, she’s afraid it is. Formal Wakandan galabeyas are quite form-fitting for the men.”

 

“Can’t some old monkey suit do the trick?” he huffs, looking down at his ass and hating the way he must be blushing by now.

 

“Have you got one handy?” she counters.

 

He pouts.

 

Bucky stands in the doorway, Henry perched high upon his shoulders, his chubby little legs dangling down either side of his neck. Ellie is cradled snugly in his arm. “Look at you, punk.”

 

“Don’t laugh. You’re next,” Steve warns him.

 

And indeed, he is. The elderly lady practically man-handles Bucky (though Zaara wonders if she should think of it as _woman-handles_ ), taking his measurements in the same fierce manner she did Steve’s and huffing to herself all the while about the impressive specimen of manflesh on display. Tying the tape measure tightly over his buttocks, she grins with approval before she mutters something in Wakandan and gives him a sharp smack on his ass.

 

“Hey!” Bucky jerks in surprise. “What was that for?”

 

Steve gasps in horror, but Zaara only slaps her hand onto her forehead. “Don’t ask, fellas. You don’t want to know. Let’s just say she’s been around the block a few times and has something like twenty or thirty grandchildren. Let the lady do her job.”

 

 In the next moment, Mrs. Bahati seems flummoxed by the absence of Bucky’s left arm.

 

“She’s not sure what they’re going to do about your arm,” Zaara says quietly in response to a steady stream of chatter in Wakandan. “But whatever it is, I’m sure it’s going to look great. You’ve seen T’Challa’s outfits, haven’t you Steve?”

 

He demurs, uncertain about wearing some sort of robe to a formal dinner. Nevertheless, he surrenders and shrugs. “When in Rome.”

 

Bucky seems innocently nonplussed, the smack on his rear forgotten. “I’m just going for the food.”

 

Zaara cackles. “Sounds real romantic.”

 

“Sweetheart, it’ll be the best date you ever had,” Bucky smirks, looking even more adorable as the children climb back on top of him once again.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Bedtime is a nightmare. The kids are way too wired and Steve and Bucky are not making matters any easier by encouraging their boisterous behavior.

 

 _Divide and conquer,_ Zaara thinks, and abandons Henry to Steve. Though her son is younger and technically needs more sleep, he is far less cooperative than his sister. Zaara scrubs Ellie in the bath, slips on her nightgown, flosses her teeth, and leaves Bucky to help her with the toothpaste and combing her hair. It all intimidates the former Winter Soldier even though the tasks he’s been given are so simple he hopes there’s no way to screw up. At least, that’s what Zaara tells him.

 

“Bucky, if you can handle D-day, you can handle putting Ellie to bed.”

 

“Not so certain of that, doll,” he confesses.

 

“Hey, I’m your doll, Bucky,” Ellie whines.

 

“Nonsense. After her teeth and hair are done, just read her a story. Turn off all the lights but her fairy lamp and make her stay in her bed. I’ll come and sing her lullaby when you’re done,” Zaara quips before heading out, leaving the two of them alone.

 

Henry is a little more complicated. Steve let him run wild while she was performing Ellie’s routine and now the boy is red-faced and breathing heavily. “Steve,” Zaara says gingerly, annoyed but doing her best to hide it. “You know, it’s really not a good idea to rile up a three-year old before putting him to bed.”

 

“Don’t you think he needed to burn some energy?” Steve asks innocently. However, he starts to suspect it may become a problem after all, even though he finds the child’s exuberance difficult to resist. And besides, he thoroughly enjoys playing with the little guy. _He’s really a swell kid._

 

Zaara sighs. “Alright. Let’s get started.”

 

It takes almost fifteen minutes just to get Henry through the bathroom door and, when they do, Steve is stumped to see about as much water end up on the tile floor as there is in the tub. Zaara decides to leave him to look after Henry while she sets up his bed toys and his pajamas, but she makes sure to brush the boy’s teeth while he’s still in the tub. “Captive audience,” she explains to Steve while he watches. Zaara doesn’t mind at all. The palace bathrooms are quite spacious and Steve seems to find bathtime amusing since Henry treats the tub like his personal swimming pool, playing happily with a dozen toy sharks and a huge crocodile. Zaara can hear Bucky reading to Ellie over in her room and figures they must be on the fourth or fifth bedtime story by now. “Steve, do you mind if I go and relieve Bucky?” she asks. “I bet his voice is starting to dry up.”

 

“Go right ahead,” Steve nods, happy right where he is. Spending time with the little guy has become an unexpected joy for him.

 

After what must be the tenth bedtime story, Zaara finally kicks Bucky out of Ellie’s room to sing her lullaby. She knows this is definitely not the end. Ellie tends to get up three or four times before she actually falls asleep and she warns Bucky. “Just dim the lights in the parlour. She’ll come out and ask for a drink of water in the next five minutes. You don’t mind, do you?”

 

“Not a bit, sweetheart,” Bucky nods. He finds himself worrying about what it will feel like when Ellie finally does go to asleep. He might have to face some things about himself without that beautiful, mischievous face to distract him.

 

Zaara scoots back to the bath and warns Henry twice before she pulls the plug and drains the water. Henry howls in protest while Steve silently uses towels to mop up all the water he splashed onto the floor. “Thanks for that,” she nods. It is simply marvelous to have help with the burdensome chores she has to perform every night of her life and always at the very end of the day when she is at her weariest. With two kids, she often feels torn in half.

 

“It’s no problem,” he smiles softly. He’s glad to do it. “Henry’s quite a kid.”

 

“Yeah,” she agrees. “When he’s not driving me crazy.”

 

It takes another ten minutes for them to corral the small boy into his room and tuck him into bed. Something twists up tightly in Steve’s heart as he stands there, listening to Zaara sing Henry his lullaby. She kneels down, kisses him and whispers to him, telling him how much she loves him and the long list of things she’s grateful for that day, from Henry pooping out the marble to her coming home to his hugs. Steve steps outside the room to give her space, but doesn’t take his eyes off the boy until Zaara closes the door.

 

She leans against it, sighs, and closes her eyes. “Done,” she whispers.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

After what must be the sixth nocturnal visit from Ellie, the trio of adults sits silently in the parlour and breaths a collective sigh of relief.

 

“Henry never got out of bed,” Steve murmurs as though bereft.

 

“Guess you really did knock him out,” Bucky quirks an eyebrow and grins.

 

“Bucky,” Zaara says quietly. “I hope you don’t mind Ellie; she feels like you’re the patient and she's your nurse. I hope she won’t drive you crazy over it. You see, she got very attached to another soldier I was healing once and she really loves to help out. A bit of a mother hen, that girl.”

 

“Not at all, doll,” Bucky keeps grinning. “She’s killer diller.”

 

“Good,” Zaara nods, but her eyes glance at the two doors. “I can’t read their minds, but I can definitely tell they’re asleep.”

 

“You can’t read them?” Bucky asks in surprise.

 

“Nope,” Zaara shakes her head. “And before you ask, I don’t know why. I just accept it and deal with it. But I can tell the sandman’s finally come and I’m making popcorn. Are you in?”

 

“Sure,” Steve nods, wondering what will happen next. It is probably too late in the evening for a serious discussion of tethers, mutants, or post-traumatic stress. Bucky seems alright so he decides to go with it. They follow Zaara into the kitchen and watch her heat up some fancy looking butter and olive oil in a pot. It smells absolutely fantastic.

 

“So,” she says softly, not wanting to disturb the kids. “Sometimes I like to watch a movie before I hit the sack. Helps me unwind. Or, I play some piano but they don’t have one nearby. I’d have to go all the way to the Grand Hall and I’d rather stay here.”

 

“You play?” Bucky’s eyes shine as he suddenly recalls how much he loves to sing. It brings back a rush of good memories and he can almost hear the sound of Steve’s voice harmonizing with his own.

 

Zaara laughs at the sounds and images in his mind. “Yes, I do. You want me to play for you sometime so you can sing?”

 

“Sure, doll,” Bucky keeps on grinning. “Nothin’ like a good song and dance to cheer you up.”

 

Steve chuckles a bit, realizing Bucky doesn’t know that barbershop quartets fell out of fashion long ago.

 

“Well, maybe when we get home. Right now, I’m behind on our Rudolph Valentino film festival. The girls and I have watched three of them and I need to catch up on two more while I’m still in Wakanda.” Zaara waits for the last of the kernels to stop popping and pours them into a large bowl which she quickly covers with a towel to preserve the heat. “Now I have someone to watch them with.”

 

“Rudolph Valentino?” Steve raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Been a long time since I heard that name.”

 

Bucky’s memory kicks into gear and Zaara marvels at it. “You two saw _The Sheikh_ when you were just kids? _”_

“Back in the day,” the former Winter Soldier gives her a shit-eating grin, feeling as naughty as he did when the two of them snuck into a showing in 1929. “That was some hot stuff back then, even after the talkies came around. We had to sneak in. Even Steve’s Ma loved Valentino, but we never told her about it.”

 

“Quiet, you,” Steve chastises him, but can’t hide the amusement in his voice. _Ma really did love Valentino, though she wouldn’t admit it. She woulda been so mad at us if she found out._

 

Zaara laughs as she leads the way. “Wow! _The Shiekh_ is next on the list. But I still haven’t seen _Cobra._ Do you know it?”

 

“Uh, doll, we seen ‘em all,” Bucky confesses, not exactly ashamed of himself.

 

“Yup,” Steve confirms and he can’t fathom his delight at finding a dame who likes old pictures, especially the silent ones. He’s only been on a few dates since coming out of the ice and he can’t say he’s enjoyed any of the new movies he’s caught in the theatres. Sure, he likes a lot of the films he’s seen at home, the ones people tell him will help him catch up with the times. But the newest movies mostly fail to entertain him so he’s happy to stick to the older ones.

 

“So you fellas don’t mind watching it again?” Zaara asks mischievously. “And you promise not to ruin any of it for me?”

 

“I’d never dream of it, doll,” Bucky cocks an eyebrow and stares hard at Steve who shrugs and can’t hide the merriment on his face. “Just don’t read my mind. I can’t be held responsible.”

 

“Oh, stop,” she shakes her head at him in mirth.

 

The three of them head into the entertainment room which sports a pool table in addition to a ridiculously large screen television and velvet couch. The three of them curl up on it, Zaara in the center holding the popcorn, Bucky on her left so he can reach the bowl. Steve’s stomach fills with butterflies when he takes his seat on her right in the knowledge that he will be close beside her for the next couple of hours. He imagines their hands brushing against each other in the popcorn bowl and how his thigh might even bump into hers every now and then. It makes him glad she can’t read his mind. An exquisite sort of torture to endure, no doubt, and he finds himself wishing he had her all to himself since the last thing he needs is Bucky catching him flirting with her. He imagines him snorting in mockery. _Still, I oughtta be glad to have him tease me the way he used to. That’s what it would be like, to have him back to his old self again._

 

Zaara glances at him for a moment, her expression curious. Finally, she turns her attention back to the screen and makes her selection. “Ready, everyone?”

 

Sitting up straight all of a sudden, Steve shakes it off. _What am I thinking? How could I ever put the moves on her? Bucky’s here, the kids are sleeping one room away, and we’re not even on a date. It’s her job to heal him. Why do I keep thinking about her this way? What’s wrong with me?_

 

He chalks it up to plain old physical attraction and knows there’s not much he can do about that. Rarely has he experienced such intense feelings for a dame, though he knows he has something on the backburner for Sharon. That girl really put herself on the line for him and he owes her. Moreover, he likes her—a lot. But he doesn’t long for Sharon the same way he longs for Zaara. Zaara feels so different to him; it’s her scent, her touch, and maybe something more. He can’t quite figure it out and he enjoys plumbing the mystery far too much.

 

The movie runs a solid hour but it doesn’t take nearly that long for the three of them to demolish the bowl of popcorn. Zaara, getting more and more sleepy, curls onto her side and rests her head on the back of the couch so close to Steve’s shoulder that a few wisps of her hair tickle his arm. Bucky glances over at Steve and grins, amused to see Zaara so relaxed at his side. Steve holds back his own grin but looks at him knowingly. He recognizes something in his friend’s expression and he senses Bucky has had some of his own thoughts about putting the moves on Zaara. He can see it in his eyes.

 

“DON’T DO IT, RUDY!!” Zaara suddenly shrieks and Steve and Bucky nearly jump out of their skins.

 

They’ve reached the halfway point in the movie and Valentino is about to sully himself by succumbing to the wiles of the coldhearted vamp and the cobra in question, Nita Naldi. Bucky gives a huge guffaw. Steve has to calm his own heart, but, nevertheless, it feels great to hear Bucky laugh again.

 

“Sorry,” Zaara apologizes sheepishly and discreetly nibbles at the tiny, edible bits of popcorn left on the bottom of the bowl. After another twenty minutes, the movie wraps up and she marvels at how quickly time flew by. She yawns. “Well, fellas, I’m gonna hit the sack. Bucky, the tether’s long enough so you can go wherever you want as long as you stay inside the suite. But that’s about it.”

 

“Fine by me,” he nods, secretly wishing he could remain within arm’s length of her. She catches his thought and blushes, for he’s imagining what it would be like to curl up next to her in bed and cuddle with her, though not exactly in a sexual way. He realizes he can’t get enough of her and the sense of safety she gives him. This is the first night he's felt anywhere near secure enough to sleep peacefully, and he inexplicably longs to do it with her beside him.

 

“What happens if he leaves the suite?” Steve asks pointedly, disrupting both their thoughts.

 

“We can talk about that tomorrow,” Zaara replies sleepily.

 

“I’d like to know now,” he insists, deliberately ignoring the bit of guilt beginning to gnaw at his gut. “If you don’t mind.”

 

“Well,” she admits with a yawn. “It might hurt him a little, I’m afraid.”

 

 _"Hurt him?”_ Steve asks, bewildered. They hadn’t consented to anything that would actually _hurt_ Bucky.

 

“Aw, shush,” Bucky admonishes him. “I ain’t leavin’ so what difference does it make?”

 

“I want to know,” Steve says stubbornly, mindful of her sleepiness, but determined to protect his friend.

 

“An emotional pain, Steve. Not the physical kind,” she clarifies.

 

“How bad?” he presses.

 

“Enough to make him notice, to let him know it’s not right. He needs to stay near me so I can protect him from Hydra,” she says, rousing herself a little. She did not expect to engage in such a discussion at this late hour.

 

“Enough to protect everyone else from the Soldier,” Bucky grunts.

 

“Right,” she agrees quietly.

 

“It’s OK, punk. Best deal I’ve had in seventy years,” Bucky defends Zaara vehemently. “Why would I want to leave a royal suite where I can sleep like a king?”

 

“Alright. I’m sorry, Zaara. I hope you know I’m really grateful for everything you’ve done,” Steve says penitently.

 

Zaara, too weary to worry much about it, brushes it off. “It’s alright, Steve. I know you’re just looking out for him. I should have told you about it sooner, but I need to go and collapse now.”

 

“Goodnight,” Steve calls after her softly as she leaves them and makes for her room.

 

As soon as she closes her door, Bucky gives him a light smack upside the head. “Punk! Why can’t you leave well enough alone?”

 

Steve rubs the back of his skull, shocked but relieved it was Bucky who hit him and not the Winter Soldier. “Ow! What was that for? I already apologized.”

 

“Stop questioning her, jerk,” Bucky frowns. “She’s doing everything for us. For _me_. Don’t make it any harder than it already is.”

 

Steve catches the look of indignation of his best friend’s face and chokes inside. Bucky’s slap roused him from his stupor and he experiences grief over his mistake. _Must have seemed like I don’t trust her. She’s gotta be exhausted from spending all night at the hospital, dealing with Bucky and me, all my questions, and then the kids. Damn. She never got a break all day._ “I’m gonna go apologize again.”

 

“You’d better, punk. Or you’re sleepin’ on the couch tonight,” Bucky smirks. “And I’ll get the giant bed all to myself.”

 

Steve rolls his eyes.

 

It only takes a few seconds for him to reach Zaara’s door. He knocks hesitantly for he hates to bother her. Listening carefully, he realizes she is still awake and can even hear her brushing her teeth. She spits out the water, puts down her toothbrush, and her bare feet make a padding sound as they traipse across the marble floor. She opens the door, her hair loose and wavy, wearing a soft pair of paisley pajamas with fabric so light he can almost see her skin beneath it. Her breasts sway gently for a moment even though she stands still and Steve feels the familiar desire coil up inside of him.

 

“Zaara? I’m, uh, I’m real sorry to disturb you,” he fumbles awkwardly.

 

“Steve,” she gives him a sleepy smile. “It’s alright. I know you only want to protect Bucky. Those instincts work in his favour. I’m not offended.”

 

“Good, good, because you shouldn’t be. Not at all,” he tries to clarify, though his mind is distracted by everything. It’s her hair, her scent, and that sleepy, sexy expression on her face. The idea of kissing her takes over his thoughts and he fights it back. “I’m still sorry I gave you a hard time and I promise not to bug you about the tether again. Sweet dreams, okay?”

 

Zaara laughs in spite of herself, and vows not to tell him he sounds like a total dork. “Good night, Steve. Sweet dreams.”

 

She closes the door and he makes his way back to the guest suite where Bucky already lies in bed wearing nothing but his boxers.

 

“You’re such an idiot,” Bucky shakes his head with his eyes closed.

 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, pulling off his shirt and pants before climbing into bed. “I hafta go to my suite tomorrow and get us some clothes.”

 

“With the way you look at her, I don’t know what you want with clothes, punk,” Bucky turns to him, opening his eyes and rolling them dramatically.

 

“Buck,” Steve protests, even as his own body becomes drowsy.

 

“Jerk,” Bucky snickers.

 

“Hey, can it with the name calling, would ya?” Steve grumbles. “I bring you to Wakanda, freeze you in the ice, defrost you, put you up in a royal suite with a giant bed and all you do is call me names.”

 

“Damn right, greaseball,” Bucky agrees, getting serious for a moment. “Look, Steve, I know I just met her but she . . . she’s everything to me.”

 

“Buck,” he says gently. Protectively. “You’ve barely been awake for a day now.”

 

“Nah,” he demurs, sitting up in bed with a sharp jolt of energy that belies his fatigue. “You don’t understand. That nap I took today—that was the first solid sleep I’ve had since the war. _Real sleep_ , Steve, without the nightmares. You get ‘em too, don’t you? From the war? I always see the Soldier, all the things that it did, and it’s one nightmare after the other. With everything that’s happened, I ain’t had a decent night’s sleep since that rat Zola strapped me to the table in his lab. Remember the nurse gave me all those sedatives when we got out of Azzano? After they put the Soldier in me, it’s been nothin’ but killing and watching myself do it. Until _her_.”

 

 _Her._ Steve sits up in bed, meeting Bucky’s eyes. It’s the first time Bucky has discussed the Soldier with him since coming out of the ice. Both of them share considerable night vision so there is no need to turn on the lights.

 

“Yeah, it’s like that,” Bucky admits uneasily. “She’s like some kind of angel to me, pal. I know how that sounds, but I, I don’t care. I really don’t. I need her. I don’t wanna keep livin’ like I did in Bucharest. That’s no life. She’s . . .” he searches desperately to find the right words, wanting so badly to make Steve understand. “She’s keeping me together, see? Otherwise, I’d be on the run again, searching for some hole to crawl into and hide forever. She’s keeping me in the light. I . . . I’m not brave enough to do it on my own. I can’t. I don’t want to hurt anybody anymore, but I don’t want to hide forever, either. I can’t do this on my own.”

 

Suddenly, it dawns on Steve that Zaara isn’t only an angel to Bucky. He softens his voice, locking his eyes on his best friend’s and gripping his shoulder. “Then she’s giving me back my life, too, ‘cause I had no life until I got you back, Buck. God, I’m such an idiot,” he murmurs.

 

“Yeah, I told you that already,” Bucky frowns, but his voice is full of affection. “Now I’m about to get my forty winks without nightmares or sweating or tossing and turning. Don’t hog the sheets and leave me the hell alone.”

 

“Goodnight, Buck,” Steve smiles to himself, grateful beyond belief to have his friend back. He’s home now. He’s also weary, though not as tired as anyone else, and stays awake for a long while as Bucky slumbers peacefully. In the silence, his senses detect the steady breathing of every sleeper in their suite: Bucky, Henry, Ellie, and Zaara—all asleep. His thoughts drift back to Zaara lying alone in that massive master bedroom with her soft pajamas and tousled hair, her full breasts swaying since she must have taken off her brassiere. It bothers him that his mind keeps returning to her body and suddenly he's hard and stroking himself without even realizing it, a glorious sort of torture since he really cannot do this in the bed with Bucky lying there beside him. He gets up and retreats to the ornate marble bathroom and summons a long, hot shower to relieve himself of all the tension and desire overcoming his body.

 

He washes himself, dries off swiftly, and returns to bed to dream of her resting in that vast, empty room untouched and alone. But soon, the dream changes and Bucky appears beside her, his body slumbering sweetly and curling into hers. His heart burns with content at the sight of them; two silent bodies pressed side by side, enmeshed with slumber, peaceful and angelic.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Zaara has a long, beautiful rest. She dreams of Steve and the look on his face when he knocked on her bedroom door, a look that held such want, such yearning, and desire. A look that holds a promise she wants him to keep and she dreams of planting kisses all over his face as his hands wander up and down her body.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

The men wake the next morning, side by side. It is too hot in bed for two large, muscular supersoldiers, their considerable body heat trapped snugly beneath the silk comforter. Bucky gives a grunt and Steve sighs, waking first from the sound and throwing the covers off him to cool down. Bucky feels him shift on the mattress and opens his own eyes.

 

“Hey, punk. Fancy meetin’ you here,” he gives him a toothy grin. “Waking up in a palace after a beautiful rest.”

 

“Bucky,” Steve grins back and rubs his eyes before stretching his arms. The bed is so big his arms can barely even reach him, but he punches him lightly on the shoulder.

 

“Can’t remember the last time I shared a bed with the likes o’ you,” Bucky muses.

 

“In the mud, on the ground. In that forest north of Azzano,” Steve provides the answer, blinking and rubbing his eyes.

 

“Ugh, that cold mud,” recalls the former Winter Soldier.

 

“And those twigs stuck in my back,” Steve flinches at the memory of it.

 

“What are these sheets made of, anyways? Never felt anything so soft before,” Bucky’s thoughts bring him rapidly back into the presence. “And this bed’s too damn cushy. Feels like lying on a damn marshmallow. I only fell asleep because I got so tired last night. Now I feel like I’m sinking.”

 

“Buck,” Steve says thoughtfully, ignoring the playful banter. “It’s really great to have you back.”

 

“You’re, you’re crazy,” Bucky shakes his head and sits up. Most if not all of his memories suddenly return to him in hedonistic rush and he can finally piece it all together. _The Red Room. The Triskelion. Steve—my mission. Those other winter soldiers. Wakanda._ He shakes his head, trying to shed the images from his mind. “I don’t know what the hell’s happening with me. I ain’t myself anymore. I don’t know who I am.”

 

“You’re still you, Buck. You’ve been through hell and we’ll figure it out, together. We’re looking after you. And it’ll stay that way for a long, long time,” Steve sniffles, not quite ready to have all these feelings so early in the morning. Having Bucky recover physically is only one step, but there’s still a lot of baggage coming their way. “You ok?”

 

“She’s asleep,” Bucky glances in the direction of Zaara’s room. “But, they’re awake.”

 

“They?”

 

“The kids,” Bucky rolls his eyes. The kids are up and he and Steve are going to have to deal with them. Both of them.

 

“We’d better wake her,” Steve starts climbing out of bed.

 

“Nah,” Bucky disagrees. “It’s way too early for that. She’s real tired. Let her rest.”

 

“Did she tell you that?” Steve asks jealously. He can’t help it. Every little piece of information Bucky harbors about Zaara is like a small, precious jewel to him and he covets every single one.

 

“Nah,” Bucky chuckles. “Saw it for myself. She got sleepy at the end of the movie last night, and I knew she needed to pass out. The kids get her up real early so if we go now, we can head ‘em off at the pass. Give her a break.”

 

“Okay,” Steve replies, uncertainty in his voice.

 

“Plus, there’s a ton of laundry to fold. She was worrying about it last night, too,” he adds. “We can do that for her. She’ll love it.”

 

“Uh, you sure about that, Buck?” Steve is even less certain about interfering with Zaara’s routine.

 

“Hell, yeah,” he snorts. “Kids won’t do it. Why should she do it all by herself?”

 

“I dunno,” Steve answers. “Doesn’t the staff help out with it?”

 

“She doesn’t want that lifestyle,” he patiently explains. “She does her own laundry here.”

 

“Sure,” Steve nods, committed. “Whatever you like.” He wonders how Bucky can wake up from the last day thinking about laundry, but Zaara warned him the road ahead will be unpredictable. _Maybe he’s just going by what he saw in her mind. She’s tired, needs to do laundry. Anything to keep him steady, keep him balanced._

 

“Come on,” Bucky hops out of bed. “We’d better feed the little monsters before they wake her up.”

 

They split up, Steve taking Henry’s room and Bucky tackling Ellie’s. The children are delighted to be awake without their mother for it feels as if they are keeping a magical secret. Soon the suite pounds with the thumps of their little feet and rings with their giggles and shrieks. But Steve detects that Henry wet the bed.

 

“Pee pee,” Henry nods sagely and points at his bed. “No di-dee.”

 

“Diaper?” Steve asks.

 

Henry shakes his head. “Nope. Uh-uh. Pee pee.”

 

“Better strip the bed,” Bucky calls out. It takes them a good while to run a load and sort through all the bedding required for a small boy, all the layers of sheets and waterproof covers, and Steve rushes into the bathroom to grab a washcloth and clean Henry off. Finally, it’s time for breakfast.

 

Bucky decides they should make pancakes and the four of them cause quite a mess in the kitchen although Steve, to his credit, attempts to limit the size of it incurred by the pouring of flour and the cracking of eggs. Still, it is a rather unrealistic hope on his part and he wonders in the end if the fresh pancakes were worth the price. “Zaara’s not gonna be happy about this mess,” he observes forlornly while the children happily chomp on their blueberry chocolate chip banana and strawberry pancakes.

 

Bucky only laughs. “Relax. We’ll clean it all up, pal.”

 

To their surprise, Zetha arrives at 8 o’clock sharp to claim the children. Zaara has yet to stir, but Steve is grateful the young woman supervises the children in brushing their teeth and getting dressed since it would have proven a formidable challenge without her. All the same, he takes notes inside his head where everything is kept, and marks the order of their routine for the next time. _Now we know what to do and when to do it. We can manage without Zetha tomorrow, I bet._ In a flash, the children are out the door and starting their day.

 

After they leave, Bucky turns to him purposefully. He has all the supersoldier energy and could really use some exercise, but with Zaara asleep, he is unable to leave the suite. “Alright, punk. Let’s clean up.”

 

Steve nods, rather daunted. The kitchen is an unholy mess. They tackle it as a team and it takes them close to a half hour to finish.

 

“Gee, maybe we’d better skip the pancakes tomorrow,” Bucky frowns when they are finally done and the kitchen is sparkling clean again.

 

“Probably,” Steve agrees. “It’s almost 9. Should we wake her up?”

 

“Nah,” Bucky demurs. “We’ve still got laundry to fold.”

 

“Are you sure about this?” Steve asks as they enter the small laundry room next to the common bath.

 

“Hell, yeah,” Bucky asserts. He feels he can never repay Zaara for one night of peaceful slumber. “She’s behind and it’s only gonna get bigger.”

 

The two of them join forces to put the load of Henry’s bedsheets into the dryer, Steve leading the charge since he has more experience with contemporary washing machines. Next, they decide to tackle a load of soiled clothes consisting mostly of tiny socks and grass-stained pants. But the three huge baskets of clean clothing pose the most daunting challenge. Nevertheless, they carry them into the parlour and start folding, staying at it for a solid half hour. Steve adeptly avoids Zaara’s intimates, but Bucky has no such compunction even though he has only one hand. The lacey bikini panties get folded neatly into small, tight bundles and are left in an unassuming pile upon the couch while Steve tries not to think about what Zaara looks like when she’s wearing them. Bucky nonchalantly folds her brassieres though Steve cannot help but blush. Bucky snorts at the sight of the dreamy look in his eye and tosses a pink one at him. It lands on Steve’s head.

 

“Hey!” Steve protests, blushing terribly. He can barely manage to touch it and squeezes his eyes shut, cringing at all the thoughts inspired by Zaara’s lingerie. The brassiere feels so light and delicate but he tosses it viciously back at Bucky as quick as he can.

 

“She’s waking,” Bucky says suddenly, and Steve immediately wishes he was there to watch her rise up out of bed, allowing his imagination to luxuriate in the image of her messy hair and curvy body stretching and yawning to meet the day. Soon enough, the door opens and Zaara steps into the parlour, hair tousled and pajamas wrinkled. He can tell she is not fully awake and seems to be looking around for her children.

 

“Mmmm,” she mumbles, yawning and stretching just like he imagined. “Where are the kids?”

 

“Zetha came,” Bucky answers her out loud.

 

“What?” she nearly jumps out of her skin. “What time is it?”

 

“About ten o’clock,” Steve replies, blinking. _Oh, no. What have we done?_

 

“Ten o’clock?” she cries in a panic. “I have to teach class! I’m already late!!”

 

“Relax, they’ll understand,” Bucky soothes her. “Just sit down. Call them.”

 

Zaara blinks her sleepy eyes, fighting off her drowsiness. “Ugh, you let me sleep in!”

 

“You needed it, kid,” Bucky raises an eyebrow, daring her to challenge him on it.

 

“What about Ellie and Henry?” she asks, feeling a pang.

 

“We fed them breakfast,” Steve offers her contritely. “Zetha came at 8, helped get them dressed and brushed their teeth.”

 

Zaara looks around the room, bewildered. Used to doing everything entirely by herself, she is at a loss as to what to do now. “What’s this?” she asks suddenly, eyeing her laundry where it lies folded in neat piles all around the parlour.

 

“We weren’t sure where to put it all,” Steve explains.

 

“But it’s done,” Bucky says proudly. “The last load is in the washer.”

 

Zaara’s jaw drops. For once, she is speechless. Her eyes fall and focus on the pile of lace panties resting on the couch. She whispers, “You. Did. This?”

 

“Yup,” Bucky nods, proudly. It feels so good to give something back. Even Steve is glad of it, though he’s not sure how it will go over. He notices Zaara’s face has turned a vivid shade of red and her hand reaches up to cover her gaping mouth.

 

She swallows before speaking very quietly, taking long, deliberate breaths in the middle of her sentences. “Why . . . thank you both . . . Very much . . . I’ve never seen my . . . my _panties_ folded so . . . so _neatly_ in my whole life.” She closes her eyes and wishes she might die.

 

Steve cringes, hating to embarrass her though he must confess he rather enjoys seeing her blush. It always hits him deep down inside, triggers some sort of animal response he has that makes him want to growl and purr at the same time. Still, he makes a noble attempt to allow her to save face. “The army teaches you how to do it right.”

 

“The . . . army,” Zaara takes yet another deep breath and nods. “Yes . . . That is . . . excellent.”

 

“Doll,” Bucky begins, wanting to make her feel better. He had no idea she would feel so embarrassed about the two of them cleaning her clothes. Or did he? _I guess they are her panties. If I was my old self, maybe I wouldn’t have touched them._ “I saw it in your mind, all this housework. We just wanted to give you a break.”

 

Zaara, unable to sort through so many emotions at once especially with her sleepy head, keeps nodding and swallowing. Her voice sounds hoarse. “I’m gonna have to work on that tether, Bucky. I didn’t bring you here to do my housework.”

 

“We don’t mind. Not at all,” Steve says earnestly.

 

“It’s the least we can do,” Bucky agrees. “If we’re gonna be livin’ with you, we wanna pull our weight.”

 

“But, but you’re recovering,” she protests. A realization suddenly hits her. _Oh, God. He ENJOYED folding my panties._ Very quickly, she decides to pretend she didn’t read that particular thought.

 

“I think housework can be a part of my recovery,” Bucky grins hesitantly, anxiously seeking her approval. “Look, doll. You don’t know how much you’ve given me already, do you?”

 

Zaara gazes inside his mind and sees how well he has slept. She also notices that his body could use some exercise, though mental and emotional rest are equally as important. And, most significant of all, she sees that this is Bucky’s way of showing her his gratitude. No doubt it is Steve’s, as well. They come from a different generation, after all, where everyone pulled their weight.

 

“Alright,” she suddenly acquiesces, shaking her head in disbelief. She feels a tiny bit stronger and is more than ready to put this morning’s embarrassment behind her. “Don’t let’s start on all the gratitude again. I know you mean it, really I do, but it’s wearing thin. But thank you for helping with the housework. I appreciate it. It’s, it’s awesome.”

 

Bucky smiles, thinking she is overdoing it, but Steve knows that in the 21st century, people use the word _awesome_ an awful lot.

 

“Next time, though,” Zaara says gingerly in a high-pitched voice, “you really don’t need to _fold my underwear_ , Bucky.”

 

“Oh, I think I do, doll,” he bursts out laughing.

 

She blushes some more, then laughs with him. _It is actually kind of funny. Feels good to laugh about it._ “Alright, alright. Let me get in touch with the girls. We’re supposed to have class today. Would you mind if they participate in your session this morning?”

 

Bucky shrugs. “If it’s OK with you, it’s OK with me.”

 

“It might be hard on you, Bucky,” Zaara warns him gently. “You’ve had no privacy and I want to make sure you get as much of it as you can, even with the tether.”

 

“I trust you,” he says, simply. He ignores the sudden feeling of dread that crops up deep in the pit of his stomach.

 

Steve frantically tries to shift gears after the merriment over the laundry, realizing that this is something of what life will look like under Zaara’s roof. The struggle of healing the Winter Soldier, of bringing Bucky back to himself, of navigating the relationship with Zaara and her family, their routines and expectations and, finally, his own feelings for her. He’s still surprised by the intensity of them and he’s not sure what to do about it. He definitely needs to give Sharon a call because he’s not sure what’s going on in that relationship, though he has an idea of where it was headed with that kiss. _Thing is, I’m not sure it can keep heading that way. Wouldn’t be right, somehow—not while I’m living with Zaara. Plus, I don’t know how long I’m gonna be holed up with Bucky in some private school where I can’t ever see Sharon anyways. Wouldn’t be fair to string her along._

 

“I’m going to get dressed and have breakfast,” Zaara says after a long pause during which she had a brief telepathic conversation with Beor-za. “The girls confirmed we can see them at eleven. We’ll have a quick session and break for lunch at 12. But we’ll head to the studio first and I’ll prep Bucky. Sound good?”

 

“We, we made pancakes,” Steve stutters, not wanting to trouble her any further.

 

“I smelled that,” she raises her eyebrows. “Sure, I’ll have some. Thanks.” She seems grateful.

 

Steve beams at her.

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Zaara’s studio is a lovely, bright and sunny space that also happens to be a charming offshoot to the royal arboretum. The walls are glass and the décor features a luxurious chaise with plenty of cushy seating. She finds that the many plants, most of which are quite exotic, bring her a soothing sense of comfort and help her focus both mentally and emotionally on her work. They thrive earnestly in her presence and she can feel some of her power flow into them, easing off the excess that occasionally places pressure on her self-control or invites power surges. Indeed, she hasn’t experienced any of these problems since coming to Wakanda. This is the space in which she will work with Bucky for the duration of their stay and she has also conducted her sessions with the girls here for the last six weeks, feeling strongly that telepathic work belongs in the study and not in the home. The Professor taught her that.

 

“I want Bucky to feel completely at ease when we’re together in the suite,” she explains to both of them as they follow her into the cavernous arboretum. “So we’ll work here. When we’re back at the school, we can work in the Professor’s old study. I very much believe in separating work and play.”

 

Steve nods approvingly, though it makes no difference to him; he’s happy as long as he gets to stick around them both, and as long as Bucky’s needs come first. “Sounds fine to me. Buck?”

 

“Whatever you say,” he acquiesces, but his eyes are glum. The bright, luscious plants that surround them, all the gorgeous light and perfumed blossoms, cannot distract him from his own darkness.

 

Zaara purses her lips. “If you ever change your mind about this or anything else, please just tell me, Bucky.”

 

“Can’t you read it in my head first?” he gives her a sardonic grin, hoping to mask his feelings.

 

“Yes,” she admits earnestly. “But I _want_ you tell me. I want you to say the words and stand up for yourself. I care about what you think and feel. You shouldn’t just do everything because I say so. Or, if it’s easier, you can tell Steve. He’s on your side, he’ll advocate for you. If I disagree, we can talk about it. You have a say in your healing, Bucky. There’s no single way of doing this, and things’ll work better if you give us your input. We’re gonna start real slow, keep our sessions short and sweet.”

 

“What’ll you be doing today?” Steve asks, seeing that Bucky seems to be shutting down. He decides he might as well get all the information he can.

 

“Well, today will just be a preliminary examination,” Zaara explains. “I’m going to take another look into Bucky’s mind. With his permission.” She gazes at him steadily.

 

“It’s alright, doll,” Bucky says gruffly.

 

“Bucky,” she says quietly. “We don’t even need to do that much. We can take a few days just to rest, if you like.”

 

He stands there, silent.

 

Zaara looks to Steve, concern in her eyes. “The only thing we have to do in the immediate present is to keep him safe.”

 

“And we’re doing that, right?” Steve asks pointedly.

 

“We are,” Zaara whispers. “We don’t have to do anything else.”

 

“Just do your examination. Get it over with,” Bucky mumbles.

 

Zaara gives him a sad smile. “Alright, then. Whatever you say. Only a short, exam, though. And you’ll get to meet the girls. They’re some of my best friends, you’ll love them. Steve met them already.”

 

He blushes. “They really are nice, Buck.”

 

“They’re my students, actually,” Zaara clarifies. “Low level telepaths, but not telekinetic like me. I’m teaching them here in Wakanda and sometimes they visit our school. They could learn a lot from studying our tether, and they’re also good people who want to help you. But I think, after today, maybe we can take a few days off and just let you relax a while. Sound good?”

 

“Sounds swell,” Bucky casts his eyes to the ground.

 

“Bucky,” Zaara whispers and moves closer to him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

 

Steve sees the sadness in her eyes.

 

She doesn’t say it’s going to be alright.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

The girls enter the room quietly, each offering Bucky their hand. He considers them one by one as they murmur their greetings and thank him for his service in the war. Beor-za is uncharacteristically effusive.

 

“It is an honor, Sergeant Barnes. To meet two war heroes in only two days’ time is truly something special,” she smiles.

 

He silently demurs.

 

Talza and T’Chota reign themselves in, tickled by the sheer handsomeness of the two supersoldiers. _Beefcake_ , they giggle in their minds. Beor-za scowls at her companions while Tsi Tsi willfully maintains her pokerface.

 

“Sergeant Barnes, I sincerely wish for you to know we are honored that you allowed us to your session today. You have a brave heart,” Beorza continues politely. “And Captain, it is a pleasure to see you again.”

 

“The pleasure is all mine, ma’am,” he nods, blushing a bit.

 

“Steve, most of our session will be silent,” Zaara informs him. “We’ll be doing a check-up on Bucky’s mind to assess Hydra’s control mechanism. We can sum everything up for you when we’re done. I hope that’s alright.”

 

“The goddamn words,” Bucky mutters under his breath, but Steve’s ears catch it anyways as he nods.

 

“Fine by me,” Steve nods. “What about Bucky?”

 

“I’ll open a channel through the tether so he can hear what’s going on,” she explains.

 

“Alright,” Steve gives his approval, but cannot help but feel a sting at being left out.

 

Zaara moves her chair as close as possible to where Bucky reclines on the chaise and takes his hand in hers. _First we’ll be checking on the anomaly I saw in your mind while you were still in cryo._

 

 _Anomaly?_ Bucky asks.

 

 _Yes,_ Zaara continues casually _. You have some sort of barrier going on in there, in that head of yours. Hydra may have controlled you, but they couldn’t get rid of you, and I’m talking about the real you. They could create the Winter Soldier, but they couldn’t eliminate Bucky Barnes, not without killing you. He’s in there somewhere, and I’m going to get him out._

 

Bucky stares at her, uncomprehending.

 

 _I see it,_  Bear-za pipes up.

 

Tsi Tsi, who usually keeps quiet, sends Zaara a thought. _It seems awfully like your own work, Zaara. It has your signature all over it._

_What? You’re kidding,_ Zaara is taken aback.

 

Tsi Tsi shakes her head. _I’m not saying it’s yours. It just . . . reminds me of you. I know your work._

 

Zaara purses her lips. _Hmm, if it resembles something of mine, then maybe we’re dealing with a high-level telepath after all._

_That’s a worry,_  Beor-za frowns.

 

 _Can anyone see behind the barrier?_ Zaara asks. _Talza? T’Chota?_

 

T’Chota approaches Bucky.

 

Steve starts getting worried.

 

“Fellas,” Zaara regards both men. “T’Chota specializes in reading thoughts expressed through the body, more so than the mind. She’s going to take a closer look at the anomaly. It seems to be something like a wall or a barrier. Her powers might give us a hint at what’s behind it. Is that alright with you, Bucky?” she grasps his shoulder and squeezes it gently before glancing up at Steve.

 

“Buck?” Steve asks after a long moment of silence.

 

“Alright,” Bucky agrees quietly.

 

“Thank you for trusting us,” Zaara says simply. “It won’t take long.”

 

T’Chota leans in and very gently places her hands upon Bucky’s forehead. _Hmmm  . . . Yes. Just like the Captain._

 

Zaara zeroes in on T’Chota’s telepathic tendrils. _Okay, you’re right. I see it._

 

 _It’s protective,_ T’Chota explains, abruptly releasing her hold on him.

 

“So, that’s where all his feelings have gone,” Zaara muses out loud.

 

“His feelings?” Steve asks.

 

“Sorry if we sound confusing,” Zaara apologizes. “Girls, would one of you like to explain?”

 

“Sergeant Barnes has not lost his memories of the past, or his ability to experience a full range of emotions,” Beor-za begins. “But the majority of his deepest, most sensitive feelings have been placed far out of Hydra’s reach.”

 

“It’s a barrier,” Talza cuts in.

 

“A barrier that resembles your own, specifically,” T’Chota clarifies. “Very similar to your mental shield, Captain. Nothing can pass through it.”

 

“Yes,” Tsi Tsi nods. “It’s keeping us out. It’s very strong. Impermeable, like a hard rubber wall.”

 

“Could Hydra have put it there?” Steve asks in trepidation.

 

“Only if they have a high-level telepath working for them,” Zaara replies ominously.

 

Steve gulps. Bucky remains still.

 

“But that’s unlikely,” she adds quickly. “We’ve never known any corrupt telepaths before and the Professor has been on the lookout for years. Aside from myself, Emma Frost is the only other high-level telepath on earth at this time.”

 

“She’s trustworthy? One of yours?” Steve immediately asks.

 

“No,” Zaara admits. “She’s pretty much in it for herself, but she would never work for Hydra.”

 

“How do you know?” Bucky asks bitterly.

 

Zaara raises her eyebrows, but is very patient with him. “You two haven’t spent much time around telepaths, have you. Girls? Would one of you like to explain, please?”

 

Steve gulps.

 

Beor-za steps up. “Gentlemen, you must understand that, as telepaths, pain is what we see most—people’s pain and suffering all the day long. Even if a telepath were less than a kind-hearted person, they would have to have a special sort of psychological disorder to add to it.”

 

Tsi Tsi cracks a crooked smile. “What she means is, a telepath would have to be a bonafide masochist to deliberately cause a person pain, for they would only end up feeling it for themselves.”

 

Bucky and Steve try to let the idea sink in.

 

“None of us enjoy pain, sir,” T’Chota chuckles. “We are here to help relieve you of yours. But, it seems, someone else beat us to the punch. That barrier is protecting you.”

 

The telepaths nod in unison.

 

“Alright,” Zaara announces. “Let’s finish up.”

 

The five of them take a good twenty minutes studying the words Hydra employed to release the Winter Soldier. It bewilders them at first, but eventually, they agree that the ten words function as a combination lock.

 

 _Indeed, the words must be uttered in their exact order. The Winter Soldier is kept inside, and the Sergeant’s mind is like a safe, or a coffer_ , Tsi Tsi muses.

 

 _But Sergeant Barnes is no coffer,_ T’Chota responds.

 

Zaara smiles. _No. He’s definitely not. But we need to get rid of this thing. I think we’ll have to approach each word one by one._

_We can do it,_ Beorza insists. _It will just take time._

_Time we don’t have, at least not in Wakanda,_ Zaara raises her eyebrows. _We’ll have to get everything associated with each individual word. We’ll be lucky to get rid of even one of them in the few days we have left._

_Zaara,_ Tsi Tsi leaps in. _Close the channel, please._

_Alright,_ Zaara agrees hesitantly. She hates to shut Bucky out, but Tsi Tsi would not ask this of her without good reason. _Bucky, give us minute, okay? We’re almost done. Alright?_

_Alright, doll_ , Bucky agrees wearily.

 

 _You’ve been an excellent patient, Sergeant,_  Beor-za smiles at him. _Thank you for your cooperation._

_Anytime, doll._

 

Zaara closes the channel. _Go ahead, Tsi Tsi._

 

 Tsi Tsi stares pointedly at her. _Why not call up the Soldier and go directly through him? Bring him out, use him as the conduit to achieve our ends and give him our orders, instead of Hydra’s? It could prove a safeguard until we can eliminate the words from his system._

_Tsi Tsi,_ Zaara shakes her head. _Leave it to you to come up with the crazy plan. That’s nuts, but it just might work. Let me run it by them; I’m not sure Steve will allow it and I doubt Bucky will agree to it. But I’ll give it a shot._

_Think about it_ , Beor-za nods. She cannot argue with Tsi Tsi’s logic. _Her ideas are often unconventional, but no one can dispute her brilliance._

 

“Very well,” Zaara looks at each of them in turn. “And with that, we will conclude our session for the day since Sergeant Barnes is getting tired. I’m so glad to have had you here.”

 

“And we are glad to have come,” Beor-za speaks for them once again. “Thank you, Captain, and Sergeant Barnes. You have given us a great gift. This has been a tremendous learning experience for us.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Steve says slowly, uncertain of all that transpired.

 

Bucky just sits there, glum, his eyes cast to the floor. It all feels hopeless and terribly frustrating. Some part of him had figured they would wipe out all the words in a flash, with hardly any effort at all. _If Zaara has unlimited power, why can’t she just do it? Why the hell does she have to be so goddamn cautious? The Soldier needs to be put away and destroyed. Forever._ Hopeless, he cannot meet her eyes even when she begins to speak.

 

“You’re in good hands, Bucky,” Zaara assures him, staring hard at Steve before she climbs onto the chaise next to the former Winter Soldier. His eyes are watering and she practically drowns in his sadness so she puts her arm around him and squeezes, murmuring to him in soothing tones. “You have me and you have Steve. You’re with people you can trust, people who care about you. You’ve got five telepaths on your side and the nation of Wakanda’s got your back. We’re going to figure out how to help you, how to free Bucky Barnes so he can live his life again—and I know it’s a life worth living. You faced D-day and the Red Skull to free the world. Now let us do this for you.”

 

Steve stares at her with wonder and gratitude.

 

Zaara smiles at them both tenderly. “So, our work is done for the day. I can sense this body of yours needs some exercise. Should we go for a walk? Or, do you feel up for hitting the gym?”

 

Bucky, who keeps staring at the floor, shrugs his shoulders noncommittally. Finally, he speaks. “Don’t you have a ballet class this afternoon?”

 

Zaara is startled. “You saw that?” She looks up at Steve, who blinks in confusion.

 

“You haven’t gone in five days, you really need to take class,” Bucky mumbles.

 

“Bucky,” Zaara squeezes him again. She waits for him to turn his face and look her in the eye. “Alright. I’m just worried you’re going to be bored out of your mind.”

 

“You need to get back to your routine,” he protests, a tiny hint of confidence returning to his face. _If you’re taking care of me, then I’m gonna take care of you, too, doll._

 

“Okay,” she whispers, kissing him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

 

Steve burns with jealousy, trying not to count all the kisses she’s planted on Bucky by now. But he can’t help himself and counts them anyways.

 

Zaara sighs and stands up. “But you’re not scamming your way out of exercise again. Maybe we can all go swimming after class. It’s a great way to wear Henry out. But lunch comes first.”

 

They return to the suite and, soon enough, Zetha arrives with Ellie and Henry in tow. They endure a cheery but noisy lunch and, all too soon, it is time for the children to return to their classmates. Henry, however, is unwilling, and Steve is forced to bribe him by promising to take him swimming and throwing him around the pool.

 

“Watch out—he’ll take you up on that,” Zaara warns. “He’s fearless in the water. He’ll tire you out, serum or no serum.”

 

“We’ll see about that,” Steve answers her with a grin. “Erskine’s formula has never been tested against a toddler before.”

 

“Hmm, that would be an interesting experiment,” Zaara muses. “You know, I believe they did a study where they had Olympic athletes follow toddlers around all day long. They made them do exactly what the toddlers did, all the running, jumping, and climbing—for hours. Turns out, the toddlers had the greater endurance.”

 

“Is that a challenge?” Steve asks pointedly.

 

Zaara laughs and looks at Bucky.

 

Bucky does not laugh. Ellie clings to his side, crooning to him. He holds her with his arm, stroking her hair with his fingers while she clings to his waist. “Mama, I don’t want to go to my lessons today. Bucky feels so sad. Can’t I stay with Bucky? Please?”

 

“Ellie,” Zaara warns, her voice taking on a serious tone. “We discussed this. If you want to keep coming with me to Wakanda, you have to continue your schoolwork. You made a commitment.”

 

“Yes, Mama,” Ellie admits sadly. “I just don’t want to leave him.”

 

“It’s alright, doll,” Bucky murmurs, tickling her chin and putting on a brave face. “I’ll be fine.”

 

“I’ll look after him, Ellie. And Steve, too. I promise. We won’t leave his side for a minute,” Zaara pleads.

 

“Not even to go to the bathroom?” Ellie shoots her a challenging look.

 

Zaara sighs and gazes at Steve. _See what I have to put up with?_ “I’m sure Bucky will let me go to the bathroom if I really need to.”

 

“Then you’ll be leaving his side,” Ellie points out.

 

“Ellie,” Zaara becomes exasperated, while Bucky and Steve try to hold back grins. “Everyone has to go to the bathroom sometime—even you.”

 

“Ms. Zaara,” Zetha discreetly interrupts them, for it is time to return to their classes.

 

“Quit stalling, Ellie,” Zaara snaps.

 

“Nice try, kid,” Bucky gives her an extra squeeze and firmly pushes Ellie towards the door.

 

“Come, children,” Zetha calls.

 

But Henry bursts into tears and now it is Steve doing the hugging and holding while Zaara rolls her eyes and mutters, “Masters of distraction.”

 

Henry does not leave until Zaara threatens to take away TV night. It is an effective threat since the children only get to watch television once a week and they love every second of it. Henry reluctantly follows Zetha, gazing back at them with regret, certain that he is missing out. But Zaara only packs her bags and the men follow her out to a palace car. In less than twenty minutes, they arrive at a spacious studio in Birnin Zana.

 

“Bucky,” Zaara says just as they arrive. “I’m not happy that you keep reading me.”

 

“Sorry, doll,” he apologizes, smirking ever so slightly. “Can’t help it.”

 

“I know,” she nods solemnly.

 

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks, hating to feel left out.

 

“Bucky keeps getting readings from me,” Zaara admits reluctantly. “Boring stuff, mostly. Like my thoughts about the laundry, or making ballet class this afternoon.”

 

"And when you forgot to put a diaper on Henry,” Bucky reminds her unwittingly.

 

“You saw that, too?” she blushes. “Gee, I really did forget the diaper last night.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Bucky pipes up. “We changed the sheets. I’ll remind you tonight. We won’t forget.”

 

“Nah, we won’t forget that,” Steve agrees. “It was a real hassle.”

 

“Sorry,” Zaara immediately apologizes. “You did all the clean-up while I slept in.”

 

“It was no trouble at all, doll,” Bucky assures her as they head into the studio. Remembering how he did all the housework for Zaara instills him with confidence.

 

Zaara stops. She turns and looks at them both, crossing her arms and determined not to be thwarted this time. “Look, you two. I don’t know what you think you’re up to, but . . .”

 

“No buts,” Bucky smiles. “As long as I’m reading you . . .”

 

“Which is not his fault, by the way,” Steve interjects.

 

“We’re gonna help out. We _want_ to help out,” Bucky insists.

 

“You have your hands full with those kids, and you’re doing so much to help _us_ ,” Steve adds pointedly.

 

Zaara frowns, but finally, she surrenders. “Well, then, I’m sorry I’m going to have to bore you out of your minds.”

 

“Sweetheart, I’m sincerely looking forward to it,” Bucky cracks a grin. “Boredom is a vacation for me.”

 

“Boredom is my favourite hobby,” Steve nods earnestly. Zaara’s eyes meet his and they both breathe a sigh of relief. It is Bucky’s first real smile of the day. _I must have done something right,_ they both think.

 

Zaara didn’t have much time to prepare the boys for ballet class, but they are warmly welcomed into the studio and take a seat on the floor in the corner at the end of the long barre while Zaara perches right next to them. Wakanda is not known for ballet, but King T’Chaka had been so impressed with Zaara’s knowledge and enthusiasm for the art form he created a funding initiative to establish a Royal Wakandan Ballet. Zaara encouraged it as part of their overall attempt to engage more with the outside world. It is not, unfortunately, an endeavor that the new Wakandan King wishes to patronize or encourage, though he cannot undo his father’s Royal Charter. But Zaara is happy to see the fledgling company thrive on the brink of its first international tour. Steve recognizes the slender, muscular figure of Dasha, Zaara’s friend whom he met while he was still her prisoner. Immediately, he rises up to his feet and shakes Dasha’s hand. “Dasha, good to see you.”

 

“What an unexpected pleasure,” Dasha croons, and most deliberately checks Bucky out before returning his gaze to Steve. “ . . . Brad.”

 

“Actually, I prefer Steve,” Steve grins back shyly.

 

“Why, how charming,” Dasha raises an eyebrow. “Do you save this name for your closest friends, Steve?”

 

“Well, yes,” Steve nods honestly.

 

“Splendid,” Dashs purrs. “Then I presume  _we_ can be close friends.”

 

“Dasha, this is my other friend, Bucky. They’ve both come to watch class,” there is warning in Zaara’s tone of voice.

 

“Mmmm,” Dashes muses flirtatiously, shaking Bucky’s hand. “You fellows seem . . . fit. I’m sure Madame wouldn’t mind if they took company class with us. I have some extra tights in my bag.”

 

“Thank you, Dasha,” Zaara says loudly. “But they’re only here to observe.”

 

Dasha sighs while Bucky stares at him in amusement. _Wouldn’t be the scariest thing I’ve ever done, doll._

_Knock it off, Bucky. You mustn’t encourage him,_ Zaara huffs, rolling her eyes a little.

“Would suit them. What a pity,” Dasha sighs and immediately returns to his personal warm-up regime of stretches and push-ups, though he spares them a glance every now and then. His gaze, however, is primarily concerned with his own image in the mirror.

 

Zaara squats down on the floor next to the pair of supersoldiers and opens one of her bags. Out pops a pair of toe shoes and she spends the next several minutes bending and stretching them, arranging a bizarre assortment of pads and bandages over and around her toes. Bucky and Steve watch and try not to let their jaws drop at her intricate ritual. The unusual shape of her toes makes Steve blink in surprise and he figures it must have come from years of wearing those pointe slippers.

 

Bucky stares at the pointe shoes curiously, the pink satin suddenly giving way and he loses himself, frozen, lost in a bloodchilling reverie.

_Murmurs in the dark. The clatter of pointe shoes as they dribble across the stage. Shivers of white, translucent fabric hovering over pale, stockinged legs. The Soldier cocks its gun. Screams. Bright plumes of cerulean blue descend gracefully to the floor. The blackness of the wings pierced by a blinding ray of light which shoots like a laser from_ _a crack in the stage door._

Zaara gasps. “Bucky?” she whispers. Her worried eyes meet Steve’s for an instant, but she looks right back to Bucky, crouching down to his level and grasping his leg. “Are you alright?”

 

He shakes his head. “Sorry, doll. You better take your class.”

 

Zaara blinks at him sadly, rubbing his leg to comfort him. “I never saw that before. What was it?”

 

“Dunno,” Bucky raises his eyebrows, but quickly looks away and sighs.

 

“What is it?” Steve demands.

 

Zaara turns her steady gaze towards him. “Bucky had a memory,” she finally whispers, trying to keep her voice out of earshot from the other dancers. “Some sort of flashback.”

 

“A flashback?” Steve asks, confused.

 

Zaara keeps squeezing Bucky’s leg, trying to soothe him. “Some kind of ballet thing. What was the Winter Soldier doing at a ballet?”

 

“He must have had a target,” Steve whispers, his voice low but surprised.

 

“Probably,” Bucky mutters. “Can’t remember it.”

 

Zaara gives him a sad smile. “You saw some pointe shoes. Some costumes.”

 

“Something pushed me out of there,” Bucky says, his voice shaking. He turns to Steve, the sadness and bitterness so enmeshed he doesn’t know which he feels more acutely.

 

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” Zaara whispers, taking his hand. “We should leave.”

 

“No, doll,” Bucky meets her eyes. “We should stay.”

 

She sighs and looks at Steve again, who nods in agreement. “Don’t you think we should go?”

 

Bucky demurs, using his hand to play with her fingers. “I’m fine. Just do your class.”

 

Zaara regards him quietly for a long moment, then nods. “Okay. If you say so. We’ll talk more about this later.” She gives Steve a knowing glance and returns to her pointe shoes and the variety of odd looking items. Bucky welcomes the distraction, watching every moment. She places all kinds strange looking pads in and around her toes, slides the slipper on, and meticulously wraps the ribbon around her ankles. Then she ties it up, tucking the extra length of fabric in the very back. She repeats the entire procedure on her other foot and smiles at Bucky.

 

Without any further hesitation, she rises up to the barre and Steve and Bucky get an eyeful as she sheds a few of her layers. Off comes the pullover, sweatpants, and socks, but she keeps her legwarmers on during her stretches. They stare in wonder at her feet and the way she presses up onto the very tips of her toes. _Beautiful,_ Bucky thinks to himself and his bad memories are, for the moment, eclipsed. Steve wholeheartedly agrees and finds his worry for Bucky diminishing as his mind starts to envision sketching Zaara this way, even though the line of her body is somewhat obscured by her layers. She still wears some sort of bodywrap, legwarmers, and a beat-up practice skirt. He has no pencil or paper, though, so he commits it all to memory instead. Zaara’s body moves gracefully through several different positions in a matter of moments, her legs stretching far out behind her only to end up high over her head the next, and Steve can only imagine how lovely it would look without the remaining layers obscuring the lines of her body.

 

Class begins and the men cannot tear their eyes from her for she is suddenly busy doing all sorts of intense, graceful and stretchy things they find unspeakably beautiful. The skilled and sensitive pianist creates sounds that harmonize so sweetly with the shapes and images created by her body and, indeed, everyone in the studio surrenders themselves to the moment, their consciousness transported into the otherworldly realm of dance. Even Bucky finds his mind relaxing and he forgets, for the moment, his own darkness. The music draws him into a pleasure he has not experienced in over seventy years. It is, for him, a melancholic collapse of past and future when he recognizes a melody here and there. The tunes of _All of Me,_ _Someday My Prince Will Come,_ and even a lonesome riff on _Starlight_ manage to shred his heart. The pain of it all makes Zaara forget some of the steps.

 

Indeed, Zaara finds it difficult if not impossible to shut out Bucky’s mind. It is enough to have two sets of supersoldiers lasering in on her body. There is always plenty to look at in a ballet class, but it is something else entirely when she knows their eyes are trained exclusively on her, and she even gets some of those vague, sexual readings from Steve again. Still, the music lifts her away from it all and, for a few moments, she succeeds in blocking them out to revel in her own body and what it is able to do, the euphoric wonder of making living, breathing art that exists for only a moment in time and will never be seen again.

 

The men miss her proximity when the class puts away the barres and the dancers move into the center of the vast studio. The ballet mistress shows them several different combinations and both Steve and Bucky note the repetitive patterns and reversals, chuckling softly when Zaara makes a mistake. She smiles and laughs. They cannot help themselves for their minds are wired to detect patterns. _That’s all ballet is,_ Steve realizes. _Patterns of movement._ He finds himself marking the steps in his own mind, though it takes him longer to detect the correspondence between the arm and leg positions.

 

When the music returns, the men recognize a beloved tune that transports them back in time and brings smiles to both their faces.

 

_All I do is dream of you, the whole night through._

_With the dawn, I still go on dreaming of you._

_You’re every thought, you’re everything,_

_You’re every song I ever sing_

_Summer, winter, autumn, and spring._

 

It’s the happiest love song Bucky knows and he finds himself longing for the way he used to dance, his strange flashback all but forgotten. He yearns to take Zaara in his arms, teach her the partner dancers that come from his beguiling, smoke-filled memories of nights in Brooklyn clubs. The sensation of clutching a woman’s body and pressing it into his own, dipping it down, throwing it away and crushing it back again to the beat overcomes him and he longs fervently to dance again. _Ballet isn’t dancing at all_ , he muses. _Dancing has touching, it has partners. I gotta show Zaara what real dancing is._

 

Zaara catches his thought and laughs to herself.

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

All too soon, class ends and the three of them head back to the palace. Henry is released from his playgroup and they take him to the palace pool. Steve has never been here before. The servants graciously provide them with swimsuits and Steve’s eyes practically bulge out of his head when he catches sight of Zaara wearing hers. Though her red swimsuit is actually quite modest, 21st century swimwear is still a bit of a shock to him and he can’t imagine what Bucky must think of it, though his friend’s eyes bulge out as much as his own. Zaara’s bare, muscular legs are revealed completely to them and Steve can see the distinct shape of, well, everything else, the red suit not leaving much to the imagination. It was one thing to watch her in ballet class, all tights and leotards and cover-ups, but now she is bare right down to her skin which glows in the bright light of the sun and he can sense its smooth suppleness, imagine the warm and fleshy sensation of it under his fingertips. But he has his hands full with Henry and he quickly learns that Zaara wasn’t kidding; the boy is an early swimmer who is far too brave in the water and keeps dragging Steve into the deep end. The palace pool may be embellished with luxurious waterfalls and swaying palm trees, but Steve has little chance to enjoy the sights, even with Zaara in that red bathing suit.

 

“You see why I rarely take him swimming,” Zaara laughs from her perch in the shallow end. “It’s not exactly a break for me.”

 

“I can see that,” Steve shouts back just before diving underneath to follow Henry. He won’t let the boy out of his reach for a second. Zaara gets an eyeful of him just before his muscular back submerges, swallowed by the depths, the chiseled muscles like some sort of topographical map of the man. It is especially awful to experience such feelings for a man when children are present. Bucky is no less handsome, but his swimwear conceals his torso, an empty sleeve fluttering over his left shoulder where he sits beside Zaara in the shallow end.

 

“Relaxing?” Zaara asks him.

 

“Doll, I ain’t been swimming in, well, I can’t recall how long,” he murmurs absently, trying not to stare at the vast display of feminine flesh glistening in the sun.

 

She stares at him knowingly. “Well, enjoy it while you can. Ellie will be here any minute.”

 

And indeed, she is. Soon she rides on top of Bucky’s back like he is some kind of giant seahorse. They play in the water a solid two hours before returning to the suite for a late dinner which is as boisterous an affair as it was the night before though this time, the men have a better sense of the routine. They follow Zaara’s lead in the pre-bedtime activities. Steve wears Henry out and, indeed, the little boy is already weary from his afternoon swim. Steve notices his drooping eyes and how his chubby little body occasionally slumps into his own, his punches weaker and fewer in number. Steve doesn’t know why he ends up playing with Henry all the time since he likes Ellie just fine, but somehow he and Bucky always pair off with the same child. Ellie seems to have a peculiar fondness for Bucky and Steve assumes it might have something to do with the idea of taking care of him. More than once, it occurs to him that she treats Bucky like a big doll. She is so careful and tender with him, often explaining how she would do this or that to help her Uncle Logan who needed to heal just like Bucky. Either way, Bucky seems happy and Steve is not about to get in the way of it. Indeed, he notices that Bucky seems glum when Ellie finally goes to bed.

 

“Bucky,” Zaara grins gently, taking his hand. She is already in her pajamas, deciding not to care if the men see her in them since they are fairly modest, though this time she makes sure she’s wearing a soft sleep bra underneath it. “I understand. You can sleep in my room if you like, tonight.”

 

Bucky won’t raise his eyes up from the floor.

 

“Well,” Steve senses something is going on, and even though he’s worried for Bucky, he hates to just barge in. “Aren’t we going to do popcorn and a movie first?”

 

“Why, of course,” Zaara smiles. “Just let me check in with my boss. I haven’t had a chance all day.”

 

“Alright, doll,” Bucky murmurs, still refusing to look at her.

 

She releases his hand and goes into her room, but she doesn’t close the door. Steve waits with Bucky on the couch and catches snippets of her conversation.

 

_The Blackbird . . . Home . . . The Raft . . . Captain Rogers . . . Sergeant Barnes . . . T’Challa . . ._

 

She returns. “Well, fellas, we can have a talk tomorrow morning, unless you let me sleep in again.”

 

“Of course we’ll let you sleep in,” Bucky retorts, as if the idea of waking her is ridiculous. “You need your rest.”

 

Zaara rolls her eyes and looks at Steve, but he stares at her pointedly.  “We can handle breakfast. We’ll only wake you up if you insist,” Steve says gently.

 

“Alright,” she sighs. “I just confirmed we can use the Blackbird to rescue your friends from the Raft. We need to talk to T’Challa, but I’m responsible for having at least two pilots for the mission. Are you both game?”

 

They look at each other, incredulous. “How’d you get to Wakanda, doll?” Bucky asks cautiously. “Did you fly yourself?”

 

“Automatic pilot,” Zaara smiles sheepishly. “Do I look like I have time to learn to fly a plane? I always use automatic pilot.”

 

Bucky and Steve stare at each other in horror.

 

She bursts out laughing. “I have telekinesis, so I don’t need to pilot to fly a plane. Still, this is a mission and I shouldn’t be using my powers to fly the Blackbird—except as a last resort.”

 

Steve nods, glad to be moving on towards the mission. “Both of us can pilot, but it’s best if we get a look at the craft. Is it anything like a quinjet?”

 

“Ooh, you’re in for a surprise,” Zaara giggles. “The Quinjet has nothing on the Blackbird. I’ll take you to see it in the morning before our session. There’s an instruction manual and a virtual seminar. You can complete it in under an hour, maybe faster since you’re both experienced.”

 

“Sure thing, doll. Excuse me,” Bucky gets up and heads for the restroom.

 

“Can we talk?” Steve asks quietly when the door closes.

 

“Of course,” Zaara nods.

 

“I’m wondering what was going on with him today?” Steve asks. “What was that memory at the ballet?”

 

“It was a flashback, only a partial memory,” Zaara assures him. “A fragment. All I know was that the ballet reminded him of it, brought it back to him. It terrified him.”

 

“Terrified?” Steve is taken aback.

 

“Yes,” she nods honestly. “And, in the memory, it was the Winter Soldier who was terrified—not Bucky. That’s all I saw and all he remembers. It doesn’t make much sense.”

 

Steve nods, trying to take it all in. “Could you figure it out for him? Maybe do a deep reading like you did on me, so we know what it was?”

 

“Maybe. I’ll take a peek at it tomorrow. I just don’t want to push him; it’s often best for the mind to remember things on its own,” Zaara’s guilt takes over. “At least, that’s what the Professor told me. The, uh, other supersoldier I helped heal always wanted us to pry open his memories, get everything out. But that’s sort of like trying to run a marathon on a broken leg, or thinking you can force a flower to bloom by tearing open its petals.”

 

Steve nods reluctantly. “Well, we’re here with him now and we’re not going to let them hurt him ever again. You know, this morning he told me he’s slept better than he has since before the war. You don’t understand how much that means to him.”

 

Zaara smiles. “I’m so glad I can give him that. And the nightmares, at least for now, are over.”

 

“Will there be more nightmares?” Steve asks cautiously.

 

“You’re a veteran,” Zaara answers soberly. “You know there’ll be. It’s a matter of him being able to handle it. It’s part of his life now and will be part of his recovery. I’m giving him a break from it, but I shouldn’t do it forever. He has to live on his own at some point. When he’s ready to face it all, I’ll still be there for him. I’m not going to abandon him. But I can’t keep him like this forever, even though I wish I could.”

 

Steve nods sadly.

 

“We’ve only just begun,” she smiles gently. “There’s no rush. Bucky can take as much time as he needs—he deserves it."

 

Steve agrees.

 

Bucky returns and snorts at them. “Talking behind my back?”

 

“Hell, yes,” Zaara nods, determined he should not see her sadness. “And we ate an entire bowl of popcorn without you. I’m gonna have to make some more.” She takes his hand and leads him to the kitchen.

 

This time, they watch a Douglas Fairbanks movie since Zaara has become quite the silent film buff. She wonders if it has to do with her days being so loud with the children but she does appreciate the touching way silent film reveals the superfluous nature of speech. As a dancer, she has an intimate understanding of all that can be communicated through movement and facial expressions. _Movement never lies,_ she tells herself and she ends up holding Bucky’s hand by the end of the film since he’s really having a hard time of it. It makes her wonder if that barrier inside him will somehow give way on its own. After the unwanted flashback in ballet class, it seems as if he needs to be physically close to someone at all possible times, and that someone seems to be her or Ellie. Steve comforts him, but a feminine touch brings him an uncanny sense of peace. She determines he should sleep in her room for the night.

 

“No arguments,” she tells him when the movie is over, stopping his mouth with her hand. “You’re staying in my room tonight. Steve can come, too, if he wants. I really don’t care. Plenty of people have come in and out of my bed over the years.”

 

Steve’s heart stops.

 

“Oh, get your minds out of the gutter,” she cackles good-naturedly at them both. “Between my own kids and some of the younger ones at the school, my bedroom practically has a revolving door. Bucky, you need comfort right now. I can give it to you. It’s perfectly alright. You deserve it.”

 

Bucky hangs his head in shame. _This ain't no way to treat a dame. I don’t belong in your bed._

 

Zaara looks away from him and stares at Steve in hopes of taking the pressure off. “It’s only for tonight. Okay? We’ll help you get over this hump and then we can settle into our routine. Now quit arguing with me, I’m tired.”

 

“I didn’t say a thing—“ Steve protests, but Zaara promptly shushes him by placing her other hand over his mouth. He steels himself, fighting the urge to form a kiss with his lips.

 

“Let’s go,” she gives a hearty yawn and pretends not to notice. She heads into her bathroom to brush her teeth.

 

Steve and Bucky go into their room and change into their pajamas. “Buck,” Steve says cautiously. “You sure about this?”

 

“Don’t make it harder than it already is, punk,” he answers him, despair in his voice. “I ain’t proud of this. Hell, the three-year old doesn’t even need to sleep in her bed and look at me—scared of sleeping without her.”

 

“Nothing to be ashamed of, Buck,” Steve tries to reassure him, not wanting him to detect the awkward rush of excitement that tortures his own heart. He realizes at once what he has to do. _Bucky won’t feel as bad if I’m there with him._ “I’ll stay with you, too. I’m here for you, buddy. Lots of soldiers have trouble sleeping.”

 

Bucky nods gratefully.

 

They brush their teeth and put on the lightweight pajama pants Steve brought over from his suite. Bucky pulls on a clean white undershirt while Steve settles for a more modest t-shirt. They enter Zaara’s room quietly since she left the door open though she is already in bed. _Lie down, Bucky. It’s okay. I’m glad you’re here and I’m glad I can do this for you. Don’t worry about anything, just make yourself at home._ Bucky immediately curls up next to her, not quite touching her and trying not to think about it too much.

 

 _Thanks, doll. I’m real sorry about this._ He lies as close to her as he can get without touching while Steve finds a place for himself on the floor.

 

“Oh, Steve, please,” Zaara groans without lifting her head. “Don’t sleep on the floor, for heaven’s sake.”

 

Steve doesn’t know what to say.

 

“Just shut up and get into bed. There’s enough room for an army in here.”

 

He blinks. _I don’t know if I can do this._

 

“I may not be able to read your mind, but I can smell a dirty diaper from a mile away,” Zaara admonishes him. Part of her realizes it may be unfair since she knows he has feelings for her, but she is far too tired to worry about it. This is not going to be easy for him, but Zaara cannot appreciate it at this moment since she is barely conscious. “Get in bed or go sleep in the guest room. I’m going to be bothered thinking of you lying on the floor all night.”

 

“There’s the couch,” he offers and it does seem a viable option. It’s plenty cushy, though it’s more of a chaise than a couch.

 

“You’ll get a crick in your neck or a sore back,” she points out. “Quit arguing.”

 

Steve has no comeback so, after a moment’s hesitation, he climbs onto the massive bed which is even larger than the one he shares with Bucky. _I can’t believe I’m doing this._ Indeed, Bucky is already asleep—he can tell by his breathing. Despite the awkwardness inside him, he manages to whisper. “Does he really need this?”

 

“You know he does,” Zaara answers unequivocally, though her voice is soft. “He’ll sleep better with you here. He’s gotten used to you again; your scent, the sound of your breathing. His senses are as enhanced as yours. He’ll feel safer knowing you’re close.”

 

Steve finally gives in and attempts to settle himself on the enormous bed. There’s no space between Bucky and Zaara so he’s forced to lie down on her opposite side. He tries in vain to forget that she’s right next to him by closing his eyes. Still, he feels himself harden and does his best to ignore it. Eventually, miraculously, he falls asleep and dreams, once again, of her. He’s never felt warmer or safer, not since he was a boy. Zaara is on his mind all the night long and he’s never felt better.

 

Bucky sleeps a dreamless sleep while Zaara keeps her silent, unconscious vigil over him, guarding him from his own worst nightmares. Steve’s opaque mental signature envelopes her as well, his blank spot bearing a strange familiarity that casts an aura of pleasure deep inside her.

 

His dreams continue, calm and peaceful, Zaara always at the center of them.

 

 

 

 


	8. Fly Me to the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a transitional chapter--more action to come.

 

 

 

_Fly me to the moon and let me play among the stars_

_Let me see what life is like on Jupiter and Mars._

_In other words, hold my hand._

_In other words, darling kiss me._

_Fill my heart with song_

_And let me sing forever more._

_You are all I long for_

_All I worship and adore._

_In other words, please be true._

_In other words, I love you._

 

 

 

 

Like yesterday, the men wake first.

 

Zaara sleeps curled between them, her long hair wrapped around her body and spilling over onto Steve’s arm. His body moved closer to hers somewhere in the night though he can't quite recall how it happened. They are nearly touching now. He spent most of the evening only half-asleep, breathing in her scent and marveling at his luck.

 

It’s been magical to see her as a mother and to experience a day in the life of her young family. Secretly, he feels relief that there is no other man around. The children are like some kind of crazy, wonderful explosion and he never knows what’s going to pop out of them. He can tell how deeply she loves them even though she seems exasperated by them much of the time. He really can’t blame her. His own Ma was a single parent and he’s in awe of all she did to take care of him, one illness after another and with money so short. And even when he wasn’t ill, he’d been a mischievous slip of a boy. Now he can see that mischief comes at a price. Zaara does the bulk of the work herself, and after Zetha picks up the kids in the morning, there is still plenty of work to be done. He shakes his head, thinking of how Zaara has been left to deal with their excess energy each and every morning and at the end of the day, all on her own.

 

_Not anymore._

 

Still he drowns in her beauty and his longing for her, even with the distraction of Bucky who is snoring rather energetically at the moment. Steve can tell he is close to waking. Zaara stirs as if in sync with his slumbering breaths, but does not rouse. As if he knows he is being watched, the former Winter Soldier cracks open an eye. “Hey, pal,” he murmurs, seeming in a very different mood than the previous day.

 

“Hey yourself,” Steve whispers back, sitting up carefully so as not to disturb Zaara.

 

“Nice way to wake up, huh?” Bucky whispers naughtily and gazes down at Zaara, his fear and shame at needing to sleep in her bed forgotten for the moment.

 

“Quiet, you,” Steve fiercely admonishes him. “She said this was for one night only. Don’t screw it up.”

 

Bucky chuckles lightly, his distress from the night before having vanished, to Steve’s delight. He speaks softly. “Well, we’d better get the hell outta here, then. Thanks, sweetheart,” he blows the sleeping Zaara a kiss.

 

Steve wants to mention Bucky’s mood but he’s afraid that would spoil it. Besides, they are only a hair’s breath away from waking the children. He can hear Henry breathing through the walls and senses the boy is on the cusp of consciousness; he just knows it, though he doesn’t know how he knows _. Maybe it’s some kind of strange supersoldier ability of mine._ Ellie can’t be far behind and indeed, all too soon, the children are awake.

 

 _No wonder Zaara doesn’t have an alarm clock. With these kids around, she sure as hell doesn’t need one,_ he grins to himself and it is a merry romp between cuddling and tossing the children around the living room. Steve assigns himself breakfast, vowing not to make the same mess in the kitchen as yesterday. It all goes well and it is nine o’clock before they even think of waking Zaara.

 

When she pads lightly out of her room, the children have already gone out the door. She sighs and gives a tremendous yawn, stretching her arms. “I missed them again, didn’t I?”

 

“Sorry, doll,” Bucky smiles to see her all tousled haired and bright eyed, resisting the urge to rub his hand in that glorious mess of locks.

 

She yawns again and shrugs in resignation. “Alright. Which one of you made coffee?”

 

“Steve did,” Bucky says defensively.

 

“It better be strong,” she mutters, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

 

“You’re really not a morning person, are you?” Steve asks cheerfully, flipping a half-raw pancake onto its side before pouring her coffee.

 

Zaara only pouts at him.

 

He laughs.

 

Bucky leaves them to tend to the laundry and she swallows, trying to get used to the idea of him doing her chores for her. “Steve,” she begins between taking sips of her hot, fresh coffee. She is still quite sleepy. “I had an idea I need to talk to you about.”

 

“Alright,” he agrees casually, wondering what on earth she has in mind. _Must be something to do with that flashback Bucky had yesterday._

 

“I’d mention it in front of Bucky,” Zaara continues carefully, keeping an eye on the laundry room and grateful the spin cycle must be drowning out her voice. It’s damned inconvenient not to be able to speak with Steve telepathically. “But I wanted to run it by you first. He’s going to have some strong feelings about it. Maybe we can talk while he does the flight seminar on the Blackbird?”

 

Steve nods. “Sure, I guess so.”

 

“What’s going on?” Bucky demands, carrying a basket of laundry into the living room.

 

“Oh, just discussing how much you enjoy folding my underwear,” Zaara narrows her eyes at the basket of clothes. “By the way, did I mention I’m impressed at how well you’re able to fold with one hand?”

 

“I’m a patient man,” Bucky raises an eyebrow. He’s feeling so chipper this morning, having had a fantastic rest, so he’s not too willing to cave in to that strange little feeling in his gut about the conversation the two of them were having while he was out of the room.

 

“Bucky,” Zaara shifts into a different tone of voice. “If you trust us, you’ve got to let us talk sometimes. I don’t want to hide anything from you, ever, but sometimes we need to figure out the right way to help you, or how to approach you about things. It’s all with your best interest in mind.” She cringes slightly, realizing she sounds awfully parental.

 

Steve clears his throat. “She’s right, Buck.”

 

“Yeah,” the former Winter Soldier murmurs. “Where have I heard that before?”

 

“All the decisions were made for you,” Zaara intones as Bucky’s consciousness suddenly, inexorably, plummets down a well-worn path of fear and paranoia. He drops the laundry basket and the clean clothes tumble to the floor. This was the way he lived in Bucharest; a lost, frightened sort of existence, like some sort of prey item crouching furtively in a hole, always on the lookout for predators, an itinerant life of near vagrancy that forced him to lie to Steve’s face about not remembering him. A half-life that only allowed him to survive and never allowed him to live.

 

“You don’t need to think that way anymore,” Zaara says softly. “We’re here for you. We’re on _your_ side. We want to give you as many choices as possible. I have an idea for your care, but I want to run it by Steve first. If he thinks it’s OK, then we’ll tell you about it and the decision will be yours alone.”

 

“When will you speak to him?” Bucky asks nervously, still unable to trust his friends. It’s a bit of a rollercoaster ride, all of these feelings. More than anything, he _wants_ to trust Zaara, have her take the reins and be the one in charge and often, he succeeds. But there are still times when he’s wary, incapable of letting down his guard and can’t trust her no matter how badly he wants to. He wants her to be upfront with him and she is, but he still doesn’t like the idea of her talking to Steve behind his back, even if she’s honest about it.

 

“How about when you take the flight seminar on the Blackbird?” Zaara suggests gently, leaving the table and moving over to squeeze his arm. She keeps her hand on his bicep, stroking it soothingly and ignores the laundry scattered on the floor. After a moment, she places a light and very deliberate kiss upon his cheek. “I feel so strange, talking to Steve without you. But it’s my job to look after you and protect you.”

 

“Protect me?” Bucky can’t help it. He scoffs.  _Ain’t no dame gonna protect me._ Desperate, he attempts to shed the disarming feelings brought about the touch of her soft, sensuous lips on his cheek. It’s not right to have a dame protect him; he’s a soldier. Hell, he spent half his life protecting Steve from bullies. Now he’s like a damn dog on a leash, quivering in fear behind his lady’s ankles.

 

“Yes, you big chauvinist,” Zaara gives him an affectionate shove, making him crack a smile in spite of it all. Reaching up, she places her hands on both his cheeks and stares gently into his eyes. “I _am_ your protector now. And Steve’s, too, by the way. Even if I am a woman.” She fights the urge to tremble at the close contact with Bucky, but she needs to drill this reality into his mind. He always seems to respond most to her touch.

 

Steve raises his eyebrows. It’s hard for him to hear it, but he acknowledges the truth. _She’s protecting me by protecting him. Bucky’s part of me, always will be. She’s got both our lives in her hands._ The way she touches Bucky so tenderly, so possessively, undoes him. She’s not going to let Bucky wrap himself in darkness and despair—not while she surrounds him with light.

 

Zaara releases Bucky and drops her arms to her sides as if exasperated. “Suck it up, you two. I’m a class five mutant.” She tosses her hair and returns to the breakfast table. “I’m gonna finish my coffee and then I am going to take a shower and get dressed. After that, we’ll head to the hangar so you can meet the Blackbird. Bucky can take the flight seminar while Steve and I plan our prisonbreak. OK?”

 

“Prisonbreak?” Bucky is taken aback.

 

Zaara cackles. “Gotta keep you two on your toes. Did you think we’d leave them there, floating around on that stupid Raft?”

 

“What, don’t I get to plan it with you?” Bucky asks, trying not to sound jealous.

 

Steve smirks. For once, he is the one with the privileged information.

 

“You're driving the getaway car,” Zaara raises her eyebrows. “Steve and I are doing the heavy lifting on this. Your job is to figure how to fly the Blackbird. And to find us some really good getaway music ‘cause we’re gonna need it.”

 

“Getaway music?” Bucky seems genuinely puzzled.

 

“I’ll let you and Steve work that out,” she giggles. “You could both use something to put your minds to.”

 

Steve cradles his head in his hands dramatically.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

“Wow . . .” Steve and Bucky’s jaws drop at precisely the same moment as they behold the X-men’s Blackbird where it sits in the palace hangar. Neither has ever seen its like before. The jet is long, sleek, and imposing and at least three times the size of a Quinjet, though slimmer and sleeker. They can tell it is made for stealth and maneuverability.

 

“What are its capabilities?” Steve asks, more than a little intrigued.

 

“Uh,” Zaara stammers, embarrassed by her lack of technical knowledge. “It’s, uh, really fast and stuff. Is that what you mean? The kids can watch movies on it and everything.”

 

Without any further hesitation, Bucky climbs on board and the next few minutes are taken up by the two men conversing about all sorts of technical jargon. Zaara listens a while, dizzied by Bucky’s train of thought as it surmounts her own frame of reference with a steady stream of aeronautics, combat scenarios, and techno-wizardry. “I guess that means you gentlemen like my jet?”

 

They stop and stare at her, wide-eyed and sporting grins so big they remind her of a couple of little boys on Christmas morning. “Yeah,” Bucky finally admits. “We like it. A lot.”

 

“Does it have stealth capacity?” Steve asks all too eagerly.

 

“Complete cloaking tech,” Bucky nods enthusiastically, flicking through three or four of about a thousand switches on the panel.

 

“Why don’t you run the flight seminar?” Zaara suggests.

 

Steve looks at her pointedly. “That alright, Buck?”

 

“Sure,” Bucky agrees, quite unable to contain his glee. The Blackbird is the most impressive aircraft he has ever seen and already he can tell it far surpasses the Quinjet in speed and maneuverability. And he’s going to be flying it when they rescue the team from the Raft. Still, he knows that as soon as they get the chance, Zaara and Steve will take the opportunity to discuss _him_. He accepts it, even though it gives him an uneasy feeling in his gut. _What choice have I got?_

 

“It’s alright Bucky,” Zaara moves closer and squeezes his shoulders from behind since he’s sitting in the captain’s chair. She brushes her lips over his cheek in a quick, feathery kiss. “Here’s your headset. And remember, whatever decision we come to, the final choice will be yours. I promise.”

 

He looks up at her, tickled by the kiss, and his fear diminishes. “Thanks, doll.”

 

“You’re welcome. Enjoy your technical mumbo jumbo.”

 

“I will.” He chuckles and puts on the headset, his thoughts quickly taken up by the highly technical flight seminar as he studies and memorizes every detail of the marvelous craft and thanks God or whoever is out there that Hydra never managed to get hold of such a vessel.

 

Steve leans in the doorway of the cockpit, arms crossed, silently watching all the while and can’t help but stare at his friend with a tinge of envy before he follows Zaara wordlessly into the small cargo hold. She takes a seat on the floor and waits for him expectantly. After a moment, he curls himself up against the wall across from her and sits, trying not to stare at her even though they are face to face. “So, what gives?”

 

“Well, I have good news and bad,” Zaara announces. “Which do you want first?”

 

“Let’s go with the good,” Steve says with a shrug, trying not to feel dread at the idea of bad news since everything seems to be going so swimmingly so far. _Other than that flashback and Bucky needing to sleep next to her, I couldn’t imagine things going any better. I wonder what’s wrong now?_

 

“Okay—the good news is, from what I saw yesterday, I am absolutely certain I can get rid of those words that wake the Winter Soldier,” Zaara nods and pauses, letting him heave a long sigh of relief. “It’s going to take a while, probably months, and it’ll be hard work. There’s a whole lot of trauma behind those words, things I can’t totally erase unless I want to brainwash Bucky. And I won’t do that. But I can remove those words one by one, and they’ll never be able to summon the Winter Soldier ever again. I want to start the work here in Wakanda, and, with any luck, I might be able to get rid of at least one of the words before we leave.”

 

“That’d be great,” Steve nods, though he’s worried. _What’s the bad news then?_

“Yes,” Zaara agrees, smiling back at him, but she is equally reserved. “You should know, however, that until I can get all ten of those words out of his system, Bucky will still be vulnerable to Hydra if he’s not tethered to me. So, that means we keep him tethered until I get rid of _all_ the words. But I want you to know that Tsi Tsi came up with another idea. It's a safeguard. I thought about it the rest of the day and I feel that it might work. But—you’re not going to like it.”

 

Steve pauses. These are some intense discussions and he feels great relief they are conducting them out of Bucky’s earshot. Moreover, sitting directly across the floor from Zaara is a distraction. Indeed, having spent the night in her bed listening to her breathe while she slept, smelling her fantastic scent, sensing her presence even in his dreams, it is difficult for him to detach and advocate for Bucky. What Zaara has to suggest seems like it will be ugly and he shakes his head, frustrated at having to navigate through so many different kinds of feelings at the same time. It’s almost too much for him.

 

“Are you alright?” Zaara asks gently.

 

He looks up and sees her eyes staring softly into his own. The expression on her face, so compassionate at the moment, seems full of concern for him. _For Bucky._ And he knows that, no matter how ugly it gets, her heart is in the right place. And damnit, he’d rather be kissing her than talking about this stuff. But he nods slowly. “I’m fine. Just tell me what it is.”

 

Zaara takes a deep breath. “Alright, then. Our idea is to talk to the Winter Soldier.”

 

Steve’s back shoots up ramrod straight in shock. “ _The Winter Soldier?_ You’re kidding me. Aren’t you?”

 

She slowly shakes her head. “No, Steve. I’m afraid not. Do you want to hear more?”

 

He nods, speechless.

 

She looks a slight bit guilty. “I know it’s crazy. When I read your mind a couple days ago, I saw all the times you had to fight him. I _know_ how dangerous he is. Don’t forget—I’ve read Bucky’s mind, too. I’ve seen what the Winter Soldier can do. But, the part you don’t know, what you don’t realize . . .”

 

“What is it?” Steve finally cuts in, surprised by the sound of his own voice. He hears it from a distance and it’s all raw and hoarse, as if he has been crying.

 

“The Winter Soldier was a slave,” she explains gently. “He served the mission, and had no real loyalty to anyone or anything _but_ the mission. Sure, Hydra fed him all the propaganda it could, but Bucky Barnes was too smart for that, and his intellect spilled over into the mind of the Soldier. They always tried to persuade him and convince him, but they could never truly convert him to Hydra. And that was painfully apparent by the time his mission became _you._ He remembered you, and it caused him to question them. So they had to torture him, brainwash him, but they couldn’t eliminate Bucky Barnes entirely, not without killing him. Instead, they used his sense of duty to direct the Winter Soldier. They gave him their perverted objectives, put him on a mission, and he offered them his obedience because if he didn’t, he got punished. They abandoned him, you know, on that helicarrier. He wouldn’t have survived and they knew it. They didn’t care if he died in that mission, trying to kill you. So . . .”

 

“So,” Steve urges her to continue, sickened and fascinated. _Where the hell is she going with this?_

 

“If we talk to the Soldier,” Zaara explains carefully, “maybe we can get him to reject the person giving him commands. Give him the power to say no to men like Zemo.”

 

“What exactly do you mean?” Steve asks. “Do you think you could undo everything Hydra’s done to him that way, just by talking to the Winter Soldier? It sounds too easy.”

 

“You’re right,” she agrees. “I don’t expect that. But, we can try. We can place a rejection of Hydra into the Soldier’s mind, order him to direct his loyalty to a specific commander instead of whoever recites those words. We can alter his purpose. He was built to obey, after all. If, and only _if_ , I wake the Winter Soldier,” she adds emphatically, “I would tell him Hydra has been eliminated and he owes his allegiance to _you,_ and he has to take commands only from you from now on, no matter _who_ says those words to him.”

 

Steve sits there, stunned.

 

“And,” Zaara adds quietly. “We can give him his final mission: to free Bucky Barnes.”

 

Steve, who does not realize he has been holding his breath, gives a deep exhale.

 

“I would never ask him to do this without your permission, Steve,” Zaara vows. “Think about it. Take some time. We never have to mention it to Bucky if you think it’s the wrong thing to do. I’d never want to hurt him and I know how much it’ll upset him even to hear the idea. I hate the thought of it and believe me, I’d rather never do it at all. But I’m afraid it might be for the best. It’s up to you. We can drop it, if you like. But I think it would work. Put the Winter Soldier to rest for good, and we can really start to heal Bucky.”

 

Steve meets her eyes again since he’d been staring at the floor in silence. He’d never dreamt of speaking to the Winter Soldier, especially now that they have Zaara. Though her powers are apparently unlimited, Zaara clearly draws a line between helping people and brainwashing them _. I have a hunch Zaara wouldn’t want to brainwash someone even if it could heal them—that’s Hydra’s MO, not hers. She ain’t the type._

 

“If you really believe it would help Bucky,” he says slowly and deliberately even though he cannot help but shiver. “Then, we should do it. Or, we should give him the choice.”

 

“I’ll only do it if he agrees,” Zaara shakes her head. “Never against his wishes. The tether is the only thing that’s not optional at the moment. I want Bucky to have a choice in absolutely everything else. And I’m glad he gave us permission to speak in private. It was hard for him to trust us and I can’t say I blame him.”

 

“Yeah, I could see that,” Steve agrees. “I think if you explain it the way you did to me, he’ll agree.” He shrugs. “You never said it would be easy.”

 

“No, I didn’t,” Zaara agrees sadly. “But he’s worth it. We can do this, Steve. He’s getting better already.”

 

“Is he gonna be sleeping in your bed again?” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow. He’s not sure if he’s feeling jealous this time, or simply wondering if he himself will get to spend another night at her side, breathing in her sweet scent.

 

"Maybe not,” Zaara laughs with relief since their conversation had gotten so heavy, though the thought of the Captain sleeping by her side does give her an achingly sweet feeling deep down in her belly. “He’s getting used to us all, the kids and everything. It embarrassed him, to tell you the truth. You must know he hates feeling that vulnerable. Thanks for staying with us last night, by the way. I know it wasn’t something you were terribly comfortable with. He would have felt worse if you hadn’t been there.”

 

“You’re, you’re welcome,” he replies awkwardly, his face suddenly flushing red.

 

She laughs again, making an astute observation. “Well, it looks like Captain America has joined the ranks of the many people coming in and out of my bed.”

 

He chuckles shyly now, averting his eyes, and gives her one of those funny little nods of his.

 

“I guess we’d better check in with Bucky,” she glances down at the floor, letting them both recover.

 

Steve nods. “I bet he’s figured out how to fly this thing already.”

 

She smiles.

 

When they return to the bridge, Bucky looks at them and grins. “Well, shall we take it for a spin?”

 

“We don’t have much time left before our session,” Zaara warns, but she hates to dampen his enthusiasm. _Bucky needs to feel good about something today,_ she realizes.

 

“How ‘bout just a short flight?” Steve suggests, meeting Zaara’s eyes. “Would that be alright?”

 

“I guess so,” she shrugs. “Just clear it with air traffic control and bring us back in the next twenty minutes.”

 

“How far can we go in twenty minutes?” Steve asks pointedly.

 

“You’ll see,” Bucky’s grin gets even bigger.

 

Steve and Zaara strap themselves into their seats.

 

“Prepping for takeoff,” Bucky murmurs.

 

“Bucky,” Zaara says suddenly. “Promise me nothing crazy, alright? I get airsick.”

 

“Airsick?” Bucky seems delighted to have discovered one of her weaknesses.

 

“Yeah,” she admits while Steve looks at her in surprise. “Crazy flying makes me hurl. Can you keep it smooth and steady?”

 

“Like some boring automatic pilot?” he teases.

 

“That sounds perfect,” she sighs.

 

Bucky clears them for takeoff and the next twenty minutes seems a whirlwind of sensations. Steve takes the co-pilot’s seat while Zaara puts on a pair of headphones and watches old music videos from the 1980s, anything to take her mind off her stomach while Bucky twists and turns the Blackbird around in the air.

 

The men hoot and holler though Steve, to his credit, attempts to rein in a bit of Bucky’s exuberance. He doesn’t like the greenish tint that is starting to appear on Zaara’s face. He checks his watch and pats Bucky on the shoulder. “Buck,” he says softly. “Let’s take it down a notch. Your session starts in fifteen minutes. We oughtta land soon.”

 

“Roger that, Rogers,” Bucky smirks at him. “She’s been spoiling me this morning.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, glancing back at her. “She’ll let you practice some more before the mission. Let’s just get her back before she throws up.”

 

Bucky turns the jet around and begins lowering their altitude. He’s never flown this high before, they’re descending from an altitude of more than 90,000 feet and they don’t even require pressurized suits or masks. _This is some tech; the Blackbird's practically a spaceship,_ he muses to himself, but he lowers the vessel gracefully down from the sky, though perhaps a little too fast for Zaara’s taste.

 

When they land, she clutches at her stomach as if she might vomit. Steve rushes to her and blows cool breath upon her forehead, yelling at Bucky to fetch some wet towels from the lavatory. Bucky dutifully brings them over and Steve immediately dampens her forehead while she blinks her eyes.

 

“Thanks,” she whispers.

 

“You gonna be alright?” Steve asks gently.

 

“Sorry, doll,” Bucky murmurs helplessly. “I got carried away.”

 

“It was worth it,” she smiles, placing her hand on his. Steve helps her up out of her seat and she leans on him. Once they exit the jet, her breaths come slower and she feels more at ease having the ground beneath her feet. “I probably shouldn’t have had so much coffee,” she observes.

 

“You did great, doll,” Bucky hugs her to him.

 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” she smiles. “I just hope we don’t need to fly that high when we go to the Raft and that you won’t mind keeping the hijinks to a minimum.”

 

“Not at all, sweetheart,” he smiles back.

 

“I’ll keep him in line. I promise,” Steve interjects, pleased as punch that she keeps one hand wrapped around his bicep while they make their way down the long halls towards the arboretum.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Steve doesn’t know what to make of it.

 

The girls surround Bucky on the chaise while Zaara cradles his head in her hands, eyes shut and lips twitching every so often. The procedure is completely silent. Steve’s not sure what to do with himself so he just sits still, playing with his own fingers. Any sound he makes could pose an interruption. He finds himself drawn into Bucky’s face for the umpteenth time and, thankfully, it’s looking quite peaceful. Bucky has accepted the girls and seems more at ease with the idea of his daily sessions with them. Plus, he’s more than a little anxious to have those goddamned words, as he calls them, wiped from his mind.

 

Back on the Blackbird, he seemed quite bitter to discover that Zaara could only perform the task one word at a time. “What’s the point of being a class five mutant with all that power if you can’t take all those words away right this minute and destroy the Soldier?” he’d asked her testily.

 

“Bucky,” she sighed patiently. “You know it’s not that easy. Raw power and blunt force are rarely the answer to anything.”

 

“I can take it,” he replied eagerly. “You know what they’ve done to me. I want it gone. Destroy it, kill it, get it out of me. Just wipe it away forever.”

 

“And I’ll tell you again, I can’t wipe everything away. You know, in some sense, you’re just like every other vet,” she'd pleaded with him. “You’ll have to deal with these memories, what they used to call shellshock. You’ll have post-traumatic responses sometimes—it’s just part of your life now. But as for wiping you blank, you’re not a chalkboard. You’re a man, a human being, who’s had these experiences, many of them horrible, but they’re not _you._ They are not who you are. You survived them and you can face them and move on. I’m not going to shave away layers of your life to turn you into the person I think you should be. I don’t even know _who_ that person is because all I want is for you to heal, for you to be _you_ with all your experiences, good _and_ bad. You will overcome this and Steve and I are here for you. I’ll help you through it, but I won’t carve you into something you’re not. I’m not Pygmalion and you’re no statue.”

 

After that, he stayed quiet for a long while.

 

Steve hates to chime in with another _She’s right, Buck._ He can see it’s not easy for him. And he knows all too well since he has enough lousy memories and nightmares of his own. _Bucky’s got to face his demons_. _We all do_. He wonders when it will be the right moment to mention Tsi Tsi’s idea of speaking to the Soldier.

 

“We have to do it sooner rather than later,” Zaara suddenly opens her eyes. The circle of telepaths draws back and takes a break. The session has gone on for forty-five minutes and already, they are tired, Zaara having woven all her psychic tendrils around that one single word, _zhelanyie,_ all of its associations and memories, each and every time it has been uttered. Every instance of it needs to be wiped away from his memory, one by one, for this is the initial trigger and perhaps the most critical to erase out of the ten.

 

“Did you get it?” Steve asks softly, watching Bucky’s eyelids flicker for a moment before they open.

 

“Most of it, I think,” Zaara replies. “But not all of it.”

 

“It is hard work,” Talza nods, her fingers rubbing Bucky’s hand tentatively.

 

“Will they still be able to summon the Soldier?” Bucky mumbles, trying not to sound as vulnerable as he feels.

 

“Probably,” Zaara answers honestly. “But taking away one of the words should weaken their hold. Bucky, we need to have a short talk about our session tomorrow, make some plans. The girls are going to head out so we can have a bit of privacy. Thank you all.”

 

“Thanks, ladies,” Bucky chimes in gratefully, not sure what to do with the ache in his heart. _All these girls here all morning long, just to help me. I don’t deserve it._

_Nonsense,_ Beor-za replies in his mind _. We are honoured to help you._

 

He swallows and stares at the floor.

 

“Thanks again,” Steve adds as they leave the room. “See you tomorrow.”

 

The telepaths murmur their good-byes and plan their recovery. The two sessions they’ve had with the Sergeant have been relatively brief, but extremely intense. Telepathic work causes headaches both intellectual and physical in nature and, and though they are used to working long hours with Zaara, this sort of work is quite different for them. It is deep and intricate, like some sort of complex surgical procedure in which each of them acts as an assistant, and a unique and extremely valuable training experience.

 

“So, Bucky,” Zaara calls softly. “Steve and I had our talk on the Blackbird and he decided our idea was worth mentioning to you.”

 

“What idea?” he asks, sitting up in the chaise.

 

“Well,” Steve takes over, nodding at Zaara. “Zaara told me about a suggestion from Tsi Tsi. She thought that we should speak directly to, to the Winter Soldier.”

 

“What?” Bucky practically howls and jumps up off the chaise. “No! What the hell are you talking about?”

 

Steve swiftly rises, pressing his hand to Bucky’s chest to stay him and Zaara allows the two men to work it out for themselves. “Just hear us out, Buck. Please. There’s a good reason behind it.”

 

“You just spent all morning trying to erase one goddamned word and now you want to talk to that monster?” Bucky can’t help it. He’s near tears, his throat clamps up, and he wants to punch somebody.

 

“Punch me,” Zaara interjects earnestly, her eyes completely sincere. “You’ve punched Steve plenty of times already.”

 

Bucky turns to her in shock. _“What?!”_

 

She smiles nervously and places her hand on his arm. “Please, Bucky. I know you’re upset. We can take you to the gym later if you need to hit something. But for now, just have a seat and listen. That’s all we’re asking. The rest is up to you.”

 

He feels her hem him in, as if she is giving his body a warm hug, but on the inside. “Stop that,” he croaks, wiping the beads of sweat off his brow.

 

“Sorry,” she whispers. “What if I hug you for real?”

 

His lips curl into a frown. “It won’t change anything.”

 

“I don’t care,” she nearly cries and leans her body into his, bringing her hand to caress his cheek, running her thumb over his stubble. He still hasn’t shaved and she wonders if he might end up with a real beard. She doesn’t think he will, but, aside from making sure he showers and brushes his teeth, they really haven’t had any time to deal with his grooming. Lowering her voice, she wraps her other arm around him and squeezes him tight so that he feels the softness of her breasts against his own chest. He melts. “I’m not using any telepathy on you, Bucky. I just want to hold you. I want you to trust us, believe in us. We’re not going to force you to do anything. We’re just asking you to listen. Please.”

 

Bucky, who hadn’t realized his arm had already slipped around her waist, reluctantly releases her and sinks back down onto the chaise. Some part of him wishes she’d curl up right on top of him so he could press those curves into his body again, but he settles himself and glares at Steve as if it is all his fault. “So explain.”

 

Steve takes a seat, his heart thumping. Though it’s too late, he finds himself wishing he had joined Zaara in that hug. He longs to touch Bucky, to reassure him the way she does. He can tell that it works. _Physical contact breaks down his walls. No wonder she’s always touching him._ “You can trust me, Buck. ‘Til the end of the line.”

 

“Aw, just tell me what it is,” Bucky protests, wearied by the displays of affection. It has been a long, demanding morning for him and he has no defenses left. “Get it over with.”

 

“We think that if we talk to the Soldier,” Steve continues carefully. “We can add another layer of protection against Hydra.”

 

“How the hell are you going to do that?” Bucky asks, incredulous. “He’s a killer.”

 

“He’s a slave,” Zaara counters.

 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, meeting her eyes. They beam encouragement his way. “We’d arrange a time and place so we can wake the Soldier safely.”

 

“T’Challa will probably want to be there, along with his personal guards. For safety only,” Zaara interjects hesitantly.

 

Steve nods. “Yeah. So, we’d wake him, tell him that Hydra has been eliminated, and he only takes orders from me for now on.”

 

 _“You?”_ Bucky scoffs and laughs bitterly. “What? _You_ wanna give the Soldier orders?”

 

"No. Not exactly,” Steve shakes his head. “But make me your default, as a safeguard. That way, if anyone ever manages to wake him up again, he won’t obey them.”

 

“And,” Zaara adds, “We’ll give him his last mission: to free Bucky Barnes.”

 

“I don’t think he’d know what the hell that means,” Bucky protests, still fearful. He can’t imagine watching himself from the sidelines again, at the mercy of someone else’s orders. All the horrible things he’s done rush through his mind and he finds Zaara huddling next to him on the chaise, her body sheltering his from the pain of it.

 

“We know you never want the Soldier to come out again,” Zaara acknowledges his fear. “And that totally makes sense. But we’d be doing something completely different with him this time.”

 

“It doesn’t matter if the Soldier doesn’t understand the mission,” Steve adds. “Even if he’s confused, he’s been a slave. He’ll dedicate himself to his mission and that’s all we need. _Free Bucky Barnes_. There’s no one to kill, no one to capture. He’ll have his mission and we all know he won’t let anyone interfere with it. And if he ever fell into Hydra’s hands again . . .”

 

Bucky flinches. Zaara squeezes him tighter.

 

“Which he won’t,” Steve quickly adds. “He won’t obey them. We’ll command him not to take orders from anyone else so he’ll never be a slave again.”

 

“It’s a safeguard,” Zaara repeats. “Once I get rid of all the words, none of this will matter anymore. But Bucky, can you see why we should talk to the Soldier before we leave Wakanda, before we go on our rescue our friends from the Raft?”

 

An air of tension hovers over them as they anxiously await Bucky’s response. Steve and Zaara exchange worried glances and she tracks Bucky’s train of thought the whole while. Already he feels so badly about himself she is at her wit’s end to find ways to assuage his guilt. All these people doing so much for him, going out of their way to help him when he sees himself as a killer, an assassin, a creature less than human who doesn’t deserve to be around other people at all. A creature not worth saving. Zaara frowns. _I think he’s going to need lots of hugs from Ellie to get through this._

 

“You really think it could work?” he croaks softly, his voice sounding as broken as his heart.

 

Zaara glances at Steve triumphantly. He smiles back at her. “Yes,” they both answer.

 

“At least,” Zaara adds cautiously. “It’s worth a try. If we’re right, we can get rid of the Soldier, or put him in some sort of limbo where he can’t or won’t take orders from anyone else or hurt anybody ever again. And, who knows, maybe he _can_ help set Bucky Barnes free.”

 

“I don’t know who that is anymore,” Bucky spits out the words, sounding utterly lost.

 

Zaara looks at Steve sadly and sighs before pursing her lips.  She squeezes her eyes shut and something moves in the distance so that his eyes scan across the room to catch sight of a vision: the sparkling apparition of Bucky’s mother. She stands some distance away from them over in the larger arboretum, tucked into the midst of fruit-filled vines and blossoms like some kind of wood nymph or garden goddess.

 

“Buck,” Steve whispers and cants his head. “Look over there.”

 

Bucky follows Steve’s gaze and rests his eyes upon the woman he saw in his bedroom just two days ago. She still wears the same housedress and the same glitter dribbles down her figure, but Bucky knows her, now.

 

_Ma. The way she looked the day we said good-bye._

 

Zaara squeezes him tight. “I’ll bring her back every time this happens, Bucky. I promise. You need to remember her ‘cause she’s gonna see you through this. She’s an angel now, looking down on you and I know for sure that wherever she is, she still loves you. She’ll always love you. You were hers, once. You still are.”

 

He tears his eyes from the figure of his mother and brings them to meet hers. “Alright.” Sobs clench up in his chest, though he doesn’t recognize them for what they are. He can’t remember the last time he cried.

 

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

T’Challa is not amused.

 

He understands what Zaara wants to do and why she wants to do it, but that does not mean he approves. Still, he knows she can handle the Winter Soldier. Between the Black Panther, his praetorian guard, Captain America, four telepaths, and a class five mutant, the nation of Wakanda ought to be well protected from Hydra’s top assassin. Still, he keeps his mind somewhat veiled from her and Zaara is puzzled.

 

“Your Highness,” Steve queries.

 

T’Challa gives a rough sigh. “This is quite a proposal.”

 

“Thank you for hearing us,” Zaara adds softly as Bucky looks on. “But we should do it soon.”

 

“I see,” T’Challa rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Alright, then. We shall proceed tomorrow morning. But, I am afraid, we shall have to return to the medical facility. It is the most secure option. Unless you would prefer the dungeons.”

 

Bucky can’t help himself and gulps.

 

“We agree,” Zaara chirps, her eyes meeting Steve’s who immediately nods his approval.

 

“We’ll see you there in the morning. Thank you, Your Highness. We won’t forget your generosity,” Steve takes T’Challa’s hand and holds it a long while in the Wakandan way.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Ballet class whirls by, but today the music and the movement fail to move Bucky. His mind dwells elsewhere and terror grips him, making Zaara lose her place during several of the barre exercises. Steve sits close by him, gripping his forearm as though he might bolt. Zaara sends her reassuring psychic tendrils to bind him and diminish his fear, but, at the same time, she is loathe to numb his feelings.

 

_Sorry, doll. Can’t help it. It’s just the way I am._

_I know, Bucky. Just keep telling yourself no one will hurt you, and that I won’t let the Winter Soldier hurt anybody. I’m going to be right there beside you the whole time. I promise. There’s only one thing you have to do._

_What’s that?_

_Hug Ellie. As much as you can. Ellie love is powerful medicine._

 

For the first time that afternoon, Bucky gives a small smile.

 

Steve stares hard at her, realizing some kind of telepathic exchange is taking place. _Who am I kidding? There’s always something going on between the two of them, something I can’t know._ It makes him feel bitter and grateful at the same time. It’s undeniable that Bucky needs this deep, intimate connection to Zaara. It’s the only thing holding him together at times, especially now with the prospect of waking the Winter Soldier on the horizon. Steve doesn’t know how she can stand to do it, but he can’t argue with her logic. This is a real opportunity. Besides, he has to admit some part of him relishes the chance to talk to the Soldier without having to fight him, without the burden of thwarting his mission or battling Hydra. He so badly wants to understand his friend, to help him out any way he can, to bring him back to himself.

 

Zaara smiles enigmatically. As always, she wishes she could read Steve’s mind. She’s glad he holds onto Bucky for the man needs a caring touch. He needs kindness and compassion after all he’s been through and she absolutely hates asking this of him. Waking the Soldier is the last thing Bucky would ever want. She wonders if she can keep Bucky himself awake while they speak to the Soldier and realizes Bucky has always been there; he remembers everything the Soldier ever did, every victim, every crime. Of course Bucky shall be present, listening to every word. She steels herself.

 

She knows what she must do.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Another day, another night, and Bucky ends up back in her bed. After all, if she is to summon the Winter Soldier in the morning, he deserves a decent rest. When the kids are finally in their beds, she makes their popcorn (she has actually begun thinking of it as _their_ popcorn ritual since, before the two of them, she never made it on a regular basis), and they argue over which movie to watch. Zaara insists it be something light and, finally, they settle on _Million Dollar Mermaid._ It’s gawdy, cheesy, and unintentionally hilarious and she can tell Bucky is getting an eyeful with Esther Williams in all her swimsuits, so Steve must be as well. Indeed, the two men are fascinated by post-war movies and Zaara realizes that it only makes sense, seeing as how they long to understand the direction entertainment took immediately after their time in the war. She makes a note to watch other post-war flicks with them like _The African Queen_ or _From Here to Eternity_ , but she decides to save them for a night when they are in a lighter mood.

 

Bucky doesn’t ask to stay in her bed tonight; she just knows he needs it. Reluctant to accept her offer, he only looks down at his feet, but she takes him by the hand and leads him to her room.

 

“Come on, Steve. We’re having a special needs night,” she murmurs.

 

Steve does not question her and, this time, quietly makes himself comfortable on her opposite side without any complaint so that she mouths _thank you_ to him in the dark. He sees it. Bucky, however, tosses and turns so much that Zaara grabs his arm. “Bucky. Do you want me to make you fall asleep? I can do it if you like.”

 

“You can do that?” he asks, tears swelling in his eyes.

 

“Yes, of course I can,” she admits frankly. “It’s fairly easy to do. Class five mutant, remember? You’ll feel better in the morning. It won’t have any side effects like a pill or anything, I promise. And there’s no need to worry—it’s only for tonight. I know what you’re facing tomorrow. You’re perfectly capable of sleeping on your own most nights.”

 

“Then how’d I end up in your bed again? I thought that was only a one-time deal,” he protests grimly. Secretly, he feels great shame at the imposition. It’s the girl’s bed, after all. Only her husband should be in it, not some interloper like himself. Having Steve there only makes it worse even though it makes _him_ feel better, like some sort of strange insurance policy. Nothing can happen between the two of them as long as Steve's there. Nevertheless, he still feels terrible about it. _Two men in her bed. Geez._ _Look what I’ve done to her._

 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Zaara whispers. “I know how you feel about tomorrow. I hate it, too. We can talk about it all night, but you made your choice so you might as well get a good sleep.”

 

“I could go back to my room and then you could make me pass out,” he suggests sadly, hoping to spare her the indignity of having two men in her bed again.

 

“I just told you to stop being so hard on yourself,” Zaara shakes her head. “Times have changed. I’m getting tired now, Bucky, so I’m going to put you to sleep. You’ll still wake up before me, I’m sure, so just don’t let me sleep in again, OK? I really have to get up in time. Goodnight.” She gives him a quick, light kiss on the tip of his nose.

 

Bucky starts snoring.

 

“Thank God,” Zaara murmurs. “Sorry, Steve. I just had to put him out of his misery. He keeps piling the guilt on top of the guilt and it all smells like bullshit to me.”

 

Steve thinks about it. He has been listening all the while, of course. “I know it’s hard for him to accept your help. And he’s got to feel bad about being in your bed. He even compared himself to Henry the other night; said the three-year old doesn’t even need to sleep in your bed.”

 

“Not true!” Zaara protests. “He’ll sneak in any chance he gets, but not usually until 3 o’clock in the morning to wake me up. Bucky’s totally fine, I don’t mind him here at all. At least _he_ doesn’t wake me up! I just feel bad that he’s hurting. And, like I said, times have changed. It’s really not a big deal to have him here. He’s, well, I know I haven’t known him very long, but to me, he’s a friend.”

 

“Well, then I’m glad,” Steve smiles shyly. “I hope I am, too.”

 

“Well, I’d kick you out if you weren’t,” she smacks him playfully with her pillow. He pretends to flinch, but he really loves every second he can get of her attention. Still, she’s weary, so she flops back down onto the bed. “I just lose patience with him sometimes. He acts as if what happened was his fault when it was Hydra the whole time. I’m so tired of him taking all the blame.”

 

“He said you’re like an angel to him,” Steve blurts out before he can stop himself. “Well, you probably know that already.”

 

“Thanks, Steve,” Zaara finds herself turning to face him in the dark. Bucky’s antics worked her up enough so that it’s going to take a little while for her to fall sleep, even though she feels exhausted from the long day. Suddenly, she’s aware of Steve’s breath exhaling not so far from her own, her body angled towards his. It smells like cinnamon with an intense dash of the darkest chocolate she can imagine.

 

Steve senses it, too, the electricity flowing between them even though they do not touch. It would be so easy to reach over and curl her into his arms, tilt his face into her hair and breathe in her delectable scent, soft tendrils brushing over his lips. Zaara catches the image for a moment and is hypnotized. It feels so sweet, this vision of his, and it is the first image she has read from him that is free, for the most part, of burning desire. It feels tender, affectionate, and perhaps even kind. _Like real love_ , she tells herself, and cracks a smile in the dark. _Wow._ But her spirits quickly darken since this is not something she can have in her life. Really, she’s had virtually no chance between the children, her hectic schedule, and looking after Bucky to tell them anything more about being a class five mutant and all the restrictions it entails. She sighs. It’ll have to wait.

 

She lets her eyes open in the dark, and she swears she can see Steve staring back at her, though the room is pitch black. A sweet smile widens on her face as she curls her body into the sheets. “Goodnight, Steve,” she whispers.

 

“Goodnight, Zaara,” he answers. “Sweet dreams.”

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Later in the night, he wakes. Sensing a movement somehow here in the sheets, he can tell immediately it does not come from the three of them. With a soldier’s reflexes, he makes a grab in the dark and catches something.

_Henry?_

 

“Poo poo,” the small boy says proudly.

 

Zaara does not stir. Neither does Bucky.

 

“Alright,” Steve whispers. “But then you have to go back to bed.”

 

He leads the boy to the bathroom and manages to get most of what’s needed into the toilet, but it takes him some time to clean up. He doesn’t mind at all; Bucky needs the rest and so does Zaara. He curls Henry up in his arms, clean and wearing a fresh overnight diaper. But the child simply refuses to return to his own bed. Instead, he runs right back to Zaara’s room. Steve makes three attempts to tuck him in before resigning himself and bringing Henry to their bed. The boy cuddles into his body and Steve finds himself spooning him. He has never slept this way before.

 

Something about Henry’s scent brings him an incredible sense of peace. With his back to Zaara, he keeps the boisterous child from disturbing her, taking all the tossing, turning, and sharp kicks a toddler can dish out into his own body. It really doesn't hurt him much. Chuckling to himself, he only holds the boy closer until his small, chubby body starts to betray his own fatigue.

 

Later in the night, after Steve has fallen asleep, he senses another hint of movement. He nearly stirs, but something tells him that Bucky is up and that leaves him feeling safe enough to bury himself back into his deep slumber once again.

 

When he wakes in the early morning he discovers, to his chagrin, that Ellie has also joined them in bed. _Zaara wasn’t kidding when she told us her bed is a busy place,_ he realizes ruefully. Ellie’s body is curled up into Bucky’s and he has his back to Zaara, just like Steve, no doubt in an effort to shield her from her daughter’s nighttime shenanigans. The five of them rest there, peaceful in the wee hours of the morning, everyone still as the faintest hints of sunlight start to peek through the curtains and cast their rays onto the shared bed.

 

Steve laughs softly to himself, grateful to start the new day like this, given all the ugliness that lies ahead of them. _No matter how bad things get later in the day, this is our life now. Morning and night._

 

 

 

 


	9. Stardust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter that covers lots of ground.  
> Melancholy, with a dash of melodrama, flirting, and erotic dreams ;-)  
> Enjoy!

 

 

 

 

_And now the purple dusk of twilight time_

_Steals across the meadows of my heart_

_High up in the sky the little stars climb_

_Always remind me that we’re apart._

_You wander down the lane and far away_

_Leaving me a song that will not die_

_Love is now the stardust of yesterday_

_The music of the years gone by._

_Sometimes I wonder why I spend_

_The lonely night dreaming of a song_

_The melody haunts my reveries and I am once again with you,_

_When our love was new and each kiss an inspiration._

_But that was long ago and now my consolation_

_Is in the stardust of a song._

_Though I dream in vain, in my heart it always will remain_

_My stardust melody, a memory of love’s refrain._

 

 

 

 

 

Having seen the children to their school groups, the three of them head down the long, gilded hallways towards the palace car circle. Zaara clings to Bucky’s hand, soothing his fears while he clings right back. _Like they need each other,_ Steve observes wryly. He can’t quite pin it down, but their hand-holding is something like their partnership—not romantic, but not exactly platonic, either. They both have to face something ugly this day but somehow, Zaara feels good anyways, Bucky’s angst notwithstanding. Indeed, she has a difficult time remembering what life was like before she tethered him to her mind, having gotten used to carrying his consciousness next to hers at all times, making him something of a kindred spirit, or a best friend. As a matter of fact, both men blend so seamlessly into the fabric of her life, it almost frightens her. She loves having them around and the children, as far as she can tell, have never been happier. Having two men share her home morning and night has been a godsend in so many ways, especially being the kind of men that they are. _Really, they don’t come any sweeter than Bucky and Steve._ They’re always ready to help out, doing the chores before she even notices they need to be done. So kind and thoughtful, these men, even though she knows they struggle to hold back their more old fashioned, masculine types of attitudes out of sheer politeness and respect for her. They never wish to offend her, and Steve is especially sensitive to her needs, always trying to anticipate them, while Bucky relies more on his instincts and the intimacy of the tether. And they’re both fantastic with the kids, always deferring to Zaara’s authority on parenting. She glances over at Steve, wanting to connect with him since she is constantly aware of what goes on in Bucky’s mind and not his. But suddenly, something else captures her attention, and it is of a different wavelength entirely.

 

They turn a corner and collide into a frenzied and terribly distraught woman who, having spotted them, cries out in her native Wakandan tongue. Bucky immediately shields Zaara with his body while the woman lunges at her frantically. He sees that she is unarmed and obviously unskilled in her attack, though he cannot discern her intentions or the level of threat and fears it might all be a ruse. Steve stares at them aghast, like a deer caught in the headlights. He’s never tangled with unstable female civilians before and he’s really not sure how to handle it. He barely halts his impulse to clock her, stopping himself at the last fraction of a moment when he realizes she is unarmed. Loathe to subdue her since she seems more crazy than dangerous, and unwilling to risk offending the Wakandans since he has no clue who she is, he stands his ground even though she continues grabbing at Zaara. Bucky effectively blocks her access, but she shows no sign of stopping so Steve looks around desperately and calls for the palace guard, finally inserting his own body in front of Bucky’s. It does nothing to deter the mad woman. She cries out even louder and tears at his shirt until, finally, one of the maids catches sight of them.

 

In seconds, the palace staff surrounds them. A guard seizes the woman by her elbows and Steve can breathe again. His shirt sports a small tear in the fabric, but he couldn’t care less. Obviously, someone else will step up and deal with it so he can breathe a sigh of relief.

 

Zaara squeezes Bucky’s arm, insisting he let her go and moves out from behind him. “It’s alright, Bucky.” She looks around and addresses the staff. “Is there a room nearby where we could speak, please? I realize it’s a security breach, but she’s not dangerous. I know her and I’m very sorry for the disturbance.” It took her a few moments to read the woman’s mind and she detected no real danger. Like Steve, she knew it would be better to allow the staff to subdue her and address the security breach. That way, she wouldn’t have to bother erasing a whole lot of minds. But now, she has to get down to business.

 

The staff murmur amongst themselves and though Steve does not speak Wakandan, he has picked up a few words here and there and it’s easy to sense their suspicions. But, all too soon, Zaara works her magic and their fears are assuaged. One of the maids leads them to a nearby sitting room while the rest scatter and return to work. The four of them go inside and Steve quietly closes the door. Bucky does not take his eyes off her, but the woman appears calmer, perhaps even penitent.

 

Zaara takes a seat and gestures for the woman to sit across from her, but the desperate creature only kneels at her feet, tears streaming down her cheeks. Steve and Bucky remain standing, on guard. “There’s no need,” Zaara says out loud, though she really only does so for the men’s benefit. They relax a little. “I know why you’ve come. Please, sit down.”

 

The woman takes a seat on the chair across from her, struggling to calm herself. She does not speak a word of English, but seems to understand Zaara anyways.

 

“There’s no need to cry,” Zaara says in an authoritative voice Steve has never heard from her before. Even Bucky is taken aback; this is not the Zaara he knows. “I know why you’ve come,” she intones solemnly. “And I will grant your wish. But you are going to forget how it happened.”

 

The woman nods silently. Her lips move to form words of thanks, but Zaara only raises her hand.

 

“I know you’ll be a good mother. You’ve wanted this very badly for a long, long time and you’ve tried very hard,” she raises her eyebrows. “But you will forget you ever met me, and you will tell anyone who asks that it came about naturally. Tell them you prayed to your goddess and she granted your wish. Tell them there is no birth-witch in the palace.”

 

“There is no birth-witch in the palace,” the woman intones with her Wakandan accent.

 

“Good,” Zaara whispers. “Come closer.”

 

The woman rises and moves toward her as though hypnotized.

 

Bucky and Steve watch as if they are hypnotized as well, wondering what the hell is going on. Steve worries that they will be late for Bucky’s procedure and Bucky is simply terrified. This is not _his_ Zaara.

 

_What the hell is happening, doll?_

_Just wait, Bucky. It won’t take long. I promise._

 

When the strange woman is within arm’s reach, Zaara brings her hand to her lower belly. A rich, indigo light pulsates and spreads forth from her palm, coating her from hip to hip as she stands there, her face glistening in ecstasy, a Wakandan prayer streaming from her mouth like a song. All too soon, the light diminishes while the woman remains, her tear-streaked face glowing like a beacon of joy.

 

“Thank you,” her voice rings out and her body trembles with excitement.

 

“You are welcome,” Zaara answers confidently. “Now, go home.”

 

The woman’s face falls blank and she swiftly leaves the room. She does not look behind her. Zaara rises and follows, making sure the staff ignores her as she makes her way out of the palace. Finally, she sighs and turns to them, for Steve and Bucky have been following her protectively all the while. “Well, I hope that doesn’t make us late.”

 

“What the hell, doll?” Bucky demands, bitter to have been cut out of her psychic circle for even a few moments.

 

Zaara sighs again and snuggles into him, sorry to have shut him out. “I’ll tell you in the car.”

 

Steve watches them jealously. When they reach the car circle, he holds the door open for her. Bucky seats himself in the middle, however, and he frowns. The silence, for a moment, is deafening.

 

“She wanted to get pregnant,” Zaara says finally as their car leaves the palace grounds.

 

“What?” Bucky immediately forgets his own problems as his mind wrestles with the implication. “You got her _pregnant_?”

 

“Yup,” Zaara nods nonchalantly. “Knocked her up.”

 

Steve does a doubletake. “How’d you do that?”

 

“Class five mutant,” Zaara shrugs. “Well. Not exactly.”

 

“Yeah, doll, how exactly did you get her preg . . . pregnant?” Bucky stammers.

 

She giggles. “Oh, boys, there’s still a lot you don’t know about me. We just haven’t had the time, you see. We’ve been so busy with things.” She doesn’t want to blame the Winter Soldier and add to Bucky’s pile of guilt.

 

“Tell us,” Bucky begs. “Please. It takes my mind off it all.”

 

“I know,” Zaara smiles and squeezes his knee, pleased that she can provide him some relief. “Alright, then. If you like. I just didn‘t want to bore you with my problems.”

 

“Bore us. Please,” Steve gives in and resorts to begging. “I already told you: boredom is my hobby.”

 

She giggles. “Wow, Steve. That’s, uh, impressive. Alright, then—back to me and my problems. Part of being a class five mutant and having this crazy amount of power is . . . Well, sometimes there are side effects. Power surges and things like that.”

 

“What’s a power surge?” Steve immediately demands.

 

“Well, they’re more annoying or embarrassing than anything else,” she confesses. “Sometimes it’s like I have too much power and I need to get rid of it. And, I’m not always sure how to go about it. The Professor was helping me channel the excess before . . . before he passed away. So, I’m on my own now.”

 

“Maybe I could help you,” Steve offers earnestly before he can stop himself. He realizes he must sound more hopeful than he means to, but he continues anyways, accepting there’s really no chance of him hiding his enthusiasm for Zaara. “I helped Wanda Maximoff figure out how to use her powers. Our training sessions really helped her channel the uh, the energy.”

 

“Well, thank you,” Zaara says politely, too preoccupied to contemplate the logistics of training with Steve. But something in the back of her mind dimly realizes it would very tricky to focus on her work if she ever tried to train with Captain America. Indeed, it’s difficult enough to be in such close proximity to him while caring for Bucky. She really couldn’t imagine working with him one-on-one in any capacity. _It’d be way too tempting. I’d just think about kissing him all the time._ “I, uh, appreciate the offer. But that lady in the palace, well, that was a different sort of problem.”

 

“Tell us,” Steve urges. Helping Zaara—there’s really nothing he’d like more, aside from helping Bucky.

 

“Well, that situation was more of a side effect,” she muses. “I have this, uh, fertility problem when I’m around garden variety humans. What I mean is, human women tend to end up pregnant when I spend too much time around them.”

 

Silence.

 

Bucky finally opens his mouth. “You’re kidding me. Wait. No, no you’re not.”

 

“I’m not,” Zaara shakes her head, resigned. “I wish I was, though. It’s a side effect because it’s involuntary on my part. I can’t control it. I try to avoid regular women. You’ll notice I avoid most of the servants and even though I attend ballet class, I don’t stick around long. Most of my friends there are men. And if I feel things get too intense, I take some time off.”

 

“Are you sure?” Steve is reminded of how Zaara always waits to join the last group of dancers for the floor combinations. Indeed, the men always go last in ballet, and Zaara is usually the only woman among them. He clears his throat. “Can you really be positive you’re responsible for people’s . . .?”

 

“Yup,” Zaara sighs. “Logan used to say I should open a fertility clinic. I’d make millions.” Neither man gets the joke. _Of course. There were no fertility clinics in their day._ “And I’m sure because it doesn’t just happen with humans. It happens to plants and animals, too.”

 

“Damn,” Bucky whispers.

 

“Language,” Steve chastises feebly. He’s at a loss and really doesn’t know what else to say.

 

“I know,” Zaara whispers back, hanging her head. It’s not anything she’s proud of. “We figured it out a few years back. A lady in one of my dance classes got pregnant. She was forty-nine years old, poor thing. It totally embarrassed her son at his high school graduation. He was like, ‘Mom— _really_?’”

 

“What happened to her?” Steve finds himself murmuring.

 

“Oh, she was fine. She had a healthy baby and they’re a happy family. But I’d been hanging around with her after dance class, going out for coffee, shopping, movies, things like that. And then it happened to a few other friends who hung out with me. Friends who didn’t _want_ to get pregnant, who couldn’t take care of a baby. You can bet I figured it out real quick after that. Too many cases of failed birth control in a row—it didn’t take much to do the math.”

 

“So,” Steve frowns, still confused. “They all had, uh, fathers then?”

 

“Yeah,” Zaara admits. “Our best guess was that my powers made them more fertile than they’d otherwise be, or else I nullified their birth control. There’s no ethical way to find out for sure, so I stopped spending time with them. Problem solved.” She sounds sad about it, full of regret.

 

“What about Zetha?” Bucky finally asks.

 

“Oh,” Zaara smiles. “She’s married and wants to have a child soon anyways. So, if it happens to her, it’s no big deal.”

 

The men sit in silence, looking out the window, trying to give her some relief from their stares.

 

“The lady you saw today heard some sort of rumour,” Zaara finally continues. “A lot of African cultures have this folklore about witches and some still believe in it, by the way. I read her mind and saw there’s a leak in the palace, something weird about a _birth-witch_ , and I’m going to have to get the girls to track it, find out where it came from. Someone knows about the side effect and let it slip. That lady, she’s been trying to have a baby with her husband for almost ten years and got desperate. I was glad to help her, but I still have to keep it secret.”

 

“What about the leak?” Steve asks and it makes Zaara smile. He seems so fierce about ensuring her safety; he practically fixates on it, always on the lookout for threats. It’s another random reading from him and she marvels at how protective he feels. _Sort of like the way he’s protective of Bucky._ No doubt he’d feel the same way about his teammates on the Avengers but, from what she can tell, this is also something more. This flash of feeling seems a little curious, somehow. It gives her the strangest inkling, almost as if he _treasures_ her.

 

“It’ll be alright. Like I said, there’s a lot of folklore in this culture,” she shrugs nonchalantly, determined not to be drawn into the intensity of Steve’s emotions. She needs to keep a level head. “Some people may think she made the right sacrifice to the right goddess at the right time.”

 

“Maybe she did,” Bucky cuts in, with a shy smile. This sort of talk amuses him, and he’s just as protective as Steve. But the idea of Zaara’s strange powers tickles him, somehow. And when that crazy lady lunged at her, it gave him a real sense of being _needed_. The irony of it is not lost on him.

 

“I’m no goddess, Bucky,” Zaara raises her eyebrows, setting him straight. His words bring back the distressing memory of Jean Grey. _That’s the last thing I want to be._

 

“Well, maybe you are to me,” he murmurs, feeling more than ready to worship her any way she likes. At least, he loves to imagine that instead of what’s waiting for him at the end of the car ride.

 

She clasps his hand, blushing at his thoughts, but knowing he’s also using them to distract himself from what’s coming. _He’s still so afraid of the Winter Soldier. Poor Bucky._ “It’s going to be alright, Bucky.” She snuggles closer to him and rests her head on his shoulder.

 

Steve, unwilling to be left out, squeezes his thigh. “’Til the end of the line, pal.”

 

“Aw, look at me,” Bucky squeezes his eyes shut. “Like I’m the toddler now.”

 

“Oh, shut up and let us hold you, Sergeant Big Jerk,” Zaara teases him lightly, squeezing him even tighter.

 

Bucky submits to it, sighing. What it’s like to have Zaara comfort him, the amazing feeling of having her arms around him, is not something he can put into words. It’s pretty much the only real physical contact he’s shared with another human being in seventy years, apart from hand to hand combat. Sure, there’s no denying Zaara’s curves, her sweet scent, the way she always leaves him yearning for her touch. He’s a man, after all, and he’s always loved being around beautiful women. But it’s more than that. It’s solace. And trust. Even when he has an urge to run away or hide from people, her body undoes him completely. It’s always there, never far from his own, and it’s becoming as essential to him as breathing. He cannot imagine living without it. It’s so physical, so real, and it roots him into the present moment and makes him want to stay in it. For a man who's lived in hiding for so long, always moving from place to place, it is remarkable to realize that as long as he’s with Zaara, he’s home.

 

When they finally reach the medical facility, though, he frowns. “Was hopin’ I’d never have to see this place again.”

 

“You’ll be OK,” Zaara squeezes his hand for the hundredth time and brings it to her lips, kissing it. She’ll do anything to keep him from his doomsday mindset. “I promise. I’m not letting you go, Bucky Barnes, not even for a second. Even when I’m talking to the Soldier, I’ll still be holding you.”

 

He nods silently, trying to ignore the odd sensation he vaguely recognizes as tears swelling up in his eyes. For some reason, it happens to him quite often these days, ever since he met Zaara.

 

“Come on, pal,” Steve grasps his shoulders protectively as they suddenly find themselves surrounded by T’Challa’s personal praetorian guard. The King himself meets them at the gateway of a chamber they have not seen in the facility before.

 

He wears the mantle of the Black Panther.

 

“Your Highness,” Steve greets him and grasps his hand in the traditional manner, marveling at the sensation of his vibranium glove brushing against his own bare skin. It is not so unlike the unyielding lightness of his shield.

 

“Captain,” T’Challa nods. “Sergeant Barnes. Ms. Xaviar.”

 

Bucky nods while Zaara wishes him good morning. The girls are nearby and they soon circle Bucky. “Gee,” he smiles shyly at them. “I ain’t never been so popular with the ladies.”

 

“Liar,” Zaara chides. “Thank you, everyone, for coming today. I’m going to ask the guards to remain by the entrance so we don’t feel too crowded. Steve and T’Challa, if you please, can stand in the middle of the chamber. The girls and I get front-row seats.”

 

“What about _your_ safety?” Bucky asks before anyone else can say a word.

 

“You will be strapped in, Sergeant,” Beor-za points out.

 

“And Zaara has telekinesis,” Tsi Tsi adds.

 

“Though she will be busy with her telepathy,” Talza reminds them. “It is difficult for you to use both powers simultaneously, correct?”

 

"That’s true,” Zaara admits, shrugging. “But I think we have plenty of back-up.”

 

“You heard the lady. Get your stun guns ready, folks,” says Bucky with false bravado.

 

Steve winces. “Buck . . .”

 

The praetorians, led by a tall and lethal looking bald woman with ebony skin, frown at him.

 

“It’s alright, Captain,” T’Challa laughs. His voice rings with amusement and just a shade of arrogance. “We have shared experience. None of us would be here now if I did not have trust in Sergeant Barnes and Ms. Xaviar.”

 

“Thanks, Your Highness,” Bucky says with sincerity.

 

“Are we ready?” the King calls. The staff seals the entrance and takes their positions, forming a line in front of the door, the only way in or out of the chamber.

 

“Let Steve do it,” Bucky says, staring hard at the chair where he will soon be confined.

 

“I’m sorry it’s a chair,” Zaara says quickly. “Should we ask for something else? A cot, or maybe a couch? I bet they could accommodate us.”

 

“It’s fine,” he says quickly. “I . . . I just want Steve to do it.”

 

“Sure thing, buddy,” Steve says softly. His hands tremble nervously as he tightens the restraints over his best friend’s chest and arm. Taking a deep breath, he almost manages to suppress a shudder but Bucky notices anyways; Zaara can tell. She opens a link to Bucky.

 

_You know how this makes us feel now, don’t you?_

 

_I do, sweetheart. I know you care about me. Come on. Let’s get it over with._

_Alright. Ladies, I’m going to block out the ten words from the minds of the guards. No sense in putting them out in the world. Only Steve and T’Challa will be able to hear them._

_Excellent, Zaara._ Beor-za approves. _Shall we assist you?_

_That’d be great. Thanks._

The four of them divvy up the minds of the guards between them while Zaara’s attention returns to Steve, who seems to need her as much as Bucky right now. He finishes buckling the last restraint and stands up straight, like a soldier reporting for duty. Zaara meets his gaze and smiles at him bravely, modeling his courage before finally turning to Bucky. Without any further delay, she intones the words.

 

_“Zhelaniye. Rzhavyy. Semnadtsat. Rassvet. Pech. Devyat. Dobroserdechnyy. Vozvrashcheniye na rodinu. Odin. Gruzovoy vagon.”_

 

It takes somewhat longer for the Soldier to wake than in the past. Bucky struggles against it without even thinking. He’s testing, trying to see if Zaara’s work made a difference. It did. He feels stronger somehow, holds on to his own sense of self longer than he’s ever managed to before. He’s a fighter, always has been, but it is to no avail. Zaara hates every moment of it and so does Steve. Bucky sweats and grimaces, but keeps on fighting since it is all he has ever done upon hearing those goddamn words. He moans out loud and she is nearly blinded by the litany in his head, a cavernous ringing of _No no no no no . . ._

The words echo into an eternity of defiance.

 

The telepaths gape in wonder at his strength. _Sergeant Barnes is one hell of a fighter,_ T’Chota marvels, sensing the resistance that dwells in every bone of his body.

 

Zaara takes a moment to peer into the ten-part mechanism, the psychic combination lock that keeps the Winter Soldier at bay. She can see now it will take more fiddling to undo that first word. _Zhelaniye._ Really, it is still far too easy to gain access to the Soldier. But now that she has it, she knows just what to do with it.

 

“Good morning, Soldier,” she says calmly. Evenly. Her voice betrays nothing of her emotions, all the things the Soldier wouldn’t understand.

 

Bucky, or the man who once was Bucky, slowly raises his eyes to meet hers, his face a visage both menacing and unruffled, all too willing to kill on command, ready and able to demolish and destroy in the name of the mission as well as anything else it might ask of him. “Ready to comply,” he replies in Russian, his body perfectly still and showing no sign of struggle.

 

Steve’s heart pounds in his chest and even the telepaths gasp. The Praetorians alter their stance and ready themselves for action, though T’Challa stays their hands. The King himself remains unperturbed for he is the only one who has seen Zaara perform this sort of work before and knows the situation is well under her control.

 

 _This is it,_ Steve realizes as his blood runs cold. _This is what it was like for him every single time they woke him up. All those years, over and over, this is what he went through, like a slave. My God, Bucky. Why couldn’t I save you?_

“Very good, Soldier. We will speak English,” Zaara nods coolly, despite the readings she’s receiving from Steve. _Poor Steve. This is hell on him, he doesn’t deserve it, but it’ll have to wait. I’ve got to help Bucky first; I’ve got to end this nightmare—for them both._ “I have some information for you. You will integrate it into your system and keep it there permanently, even if someone tries to wipe it away or places you back in cryo again. This information cannot be erased. It cannot be reset or altered in any way. Is that clear?”

 

“Yes,” the Soldier replies softly.

 

“Good,” Zaara paces slowly around him, gazing up at the ceiling. Dimly, she senses Bucky’s consciousness hovering just outside of the Winter Soldier’s psychic perimeter. He is watching her, listening to every word.

 

“Soldier, Hydra has been eliminated.”

 

His face appears impassive.

 

“Soldier—acknowledge.”

 

“Yes,” he nods ever so slightly before repeating her words softly and smoothly, like he doesn’t care. “Hydra has been eliminated.” He turns his face toward hers and she cannot help but shudder for it is not Bucky Barnes looking back at her, though Bucky is most certainly present and can see her through the Winter Soldier’s eyes. The man who looks upon her now is a slave, perhaps the most dangerous slave ever known.

 

“Very good. I have orders for you.”

 

“Ready to comply.”

 

“Excellent. I am ordering you to take commands only from Captain Rogers from now on. Confirm.”

 

A pause.

 

“Captain Rogers?” the Soldier finally repeats, bewildered. To her surprise, he voices a protest—and a hint of Bucky Barnes comes through. “He was my mission.”

 

Zaara glances at Steve with worry. “Am I being clear, Soldier?”

 

He pauses again, wanting desperately to comply though he cannot hide the fact he is deeply disturbed by the contradiction. If the man he was ordered to kill is now his commander, then he cannot discern what to do about his original orders. The mission to kill Rogers failed. He never failed a mission before and he knows he shall pay dearly for it. He was supposed to _kill_ the man on the bridge. Now he must _obey_ the man on the bridge. Which order takes precedence? He swallows, deliberating, then speaks in a trembling voice. “Yes.”

 

“You hesitated,” Zaara notes with disapproval. It seems the Winter Soldier is reluctant to have anything to do with Captain Rogers. _Makes sense. They gave him one hell of a beating when he remembered Steve the first time._

 

“Yes,” he admits. He is afraid. He knows he will be punished, but he cannot lie. “I did.”

 

 _Shit,_ she thinks. _His loyalty to Steve will be weak at best. It’s a direct contradiction of his previous orders. How am I gonna fix this? I can’t go back and start over again. Poor Bucky, it’s been hell enough just to get here in the first place. I have to fix this—right now._

_You are right,_ Tsi Tsi calls to her. _This is an opportunity. Take it. You may not have one like it again._

 

“Soldier,” Zaara clears her throat. “Delete that order. Immediately. You will _not_ take orders from Captain Rogers. Confirm.”

 

“Confirmed,” the Soldier replies automatically. Submissively.

 

Steve’s heart freezes. He noticed the Soldier’s hesitation as well. He seemed unwilling at best to take orders from him. Though Steve figures it makes sense, his breaths come faster and he takes a step towards her, T’Challa watching like a hawk the whole while. _What the hell is she gonna do now?_

 

“You will take commands from me, instead.” Zaara locks her eyes on Steve’s, begging for his forgiveness. _Really, we should have thought of this in the first place,_ she realizes. _It makes sense it would confuse the Winter Soldier to take orders from the man who was once his mission._

 

Even the girls agree—Tsi Tsi messages her approval _. If the Soldier took commands from a stranger like Zemo, he should have no trouble taking commands from you_. _You are a neutral figure to him._

 

“Is that clear?” Zaara asks with trepidation. She watches Steve seethe from across the room, his hands clenching into fists. He’s obviously having difficulty with the change of plans. “Confirm, Soldier.”

 

“Yes.” The Soldier nods, sounding much more confident this time. “Confirmed.”

 

“Furthermore, you will never take commands from anyone else ever again,” Zaara continues, cementing her authority over him, keeping her eyes on Steve all the while. “No matter who summons you, no matter who they say they are _, I am in charge of you now_. I am your commander. And you will take orders only from me.”

 

“I take orders only from you,” he responds immediately, sounding completely convinced this time.

 

“ _Only_ me, from now on—no matter who wakes you in the future. Confirm.”

 

It takes a few moments and she can tell the Soldier is deliberating again. It is quite strange, actually, this curious sort of mental processing. The Soldier is not a person, after all. The Soldier _is_ Bucky—Bucky Barnes enslaved. The Soldier is a slave, an _it_ , according to Bucky’s own perceptions, a tool that uses Bucky Barnes’ skills and abilities to achieve Hydra’s ends.

 

Indeed, Bucky and the Winter Soldier hear her instructions _at the same time._

 

 _You're right, doll. Let it takes orders from you. It's the right thing to do. Steve’s just confused, is all. Don’t worry about him, he’ll understand._ Bucky seeks to soothe her, reading her fear and anguish through their intimate psychic connection. He feels profoundly comforted by the thought of having Zaara in command of the Soldier from now on. It feels good. _It feels right, honey. So do it. Let’s finish this._

 

Zaara and the girls nearly jump out of their skin when they hear Bucky’s commentary. Something about the tether allows him this dialogue when, in the past, Bucky’s consciousness had been utterly isolated, a helpless observer to the wreckage wreaked by the Winter Soldier. Indeed, he is positively gleeful to be enslaved by Zaara’s command. All five of them are taken by surprise.

 

_Thank you, Bucky. I needed that. I’m so glad you understand. You’re an angel._

_Anytime, doll. But you’re the angel, not me._

 

“Confirmed.” The Soldier says loudly and clearly, gazing directly into her eyes.

 

“Excellent,” Zaara nods and looks away, locking eyes with Steve again.

 

Despite his anger, Steve’s heart bursts with relief, so grateful the session is nearly over. He hates not having thought of it before, but he has to admit the truth: _Zaara did the right thing. The Soldier was too reluctant to take orders from me. He hesitated. Our connection wouldn’t have been stable._

 

“And now, Soldier,” Zaara continues. “I have a mission for you—your _final_ mission. And after you complete it, you will be decommissioned. Understood?”

 

“Understood,” the Soldier replies casually, as if it makes no difference at all.

 

“Good,” she murmurs, still looking at Steve who swallows and nods encouragingly. Zaara finds herself moving towards him now, the circle of telepaths closing in around Bucky while she takes Steve’s hand in her own, squeezing it tight. His heart flutters. “Now Soldier, I will give your final mission." Her eyes water slightly but remain locked on Steve’s.

 

“My final mission,” the Winter Soldier repeats quietly, his eyes fixed upon her back.

 

“Yes,” she nods. “Your final mission . . .”

 

Steve holds his breath.

 

“Free Bucky Barnes.”

 

The room goes silent. All that can be heard are the gasps of the Wakandan telepaths.

 

“Free Bucky Barnes,” the Soldier repeats awkwardly, but dutifully. Once again, he experiences confusion.

 

“Yes,” Zaara nods. “Is that clear, Soldier?"

 

“Free Bucky Barnes,” the Soldier squints his eyes, concentrating, and there can be no doubt he heard her words.

 

“Excellent,” she nods, turning back to face him and releasing Steve’s hand. She enters the circle once more and the telepaths part briefly to allow her in. “Tell me what that means, Soldier.”

 

There is a long pause.

 

“Where do I find him?” the Soldier finally asks.

 

“You'll know him when you see him,” she replies cautiously. “Set him free. Keep thinking about it and you _will_ find him. This mission overrides everything else, and that includes any other orders you've been given or will ever receive. _You must free Bucky Barnes._ Do you copy?”

 

“Copy,” the Soldier replies. He sits very still, not knowing what else to do.

 

Steve wonders what will happen next.

 

“Good.” Zaara stares at him pointedly until she finally meets the eyes of each woman in her telepathic circle. Steve watches all the while.

 

 _That’s it, doll. You did it,_ Bucky encourages her.

 

“One last thing, Soldier,” Zaara speaks up briskly. “Are you ready to comply?”

 

“Ready to comply,” the Soldier answers grimly.

 

Steve blinks, curious. _What now?_

 

“I’m going to establish a default,” Zaara announces succinctly, watching Steve out the corner of her eye. “If anyone tampers with my orders, attempts to alter them in any way, or assigns you a different mission, you are to disregard them and escape immediately without any casualties. Furthermore, if they order you to harm _anyone_ , if they find some way of forcing you to comply, then you will _come directly to me_ instead. And if you are unable to escape them, if you cannot eliminate the compulsion to obey them, if you are told to reject my commands, then you are to undertake your mission on _me_ instead.”

 

Steve’s heart stops beating. “Zaara? Stop this! STOP IT NOW. _Don’t listen to her, Buck!”_

 

“No.” The Soldier’s voice falters, his eyes locked on the unarmed, seemingly vulnerable woman giving him his orders. “I . . . I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

It surprises her, this protest, the reluctance in his voice. After all, it belies the impression everyone has of the Winter Soldier. Only Zaara knows the Soldier _hated_ to hurt people, that the Soldier avoided collateral damage as far as it was possible, that the Soldier would have turned his gun on himself before he would have harmed a child. It was a deeply held and secret safeguard and it came from Bucky himself all along, fighting and resisting Hydra in any way that he could. And now, the Soldier doesn’t want to hurt _her._ She is giving him a chance to respond, a chance to speak, and he is taking it. But she cannot allow him to resist.

 

“Soldier, _comply,_ ” Zaara intones relentlessly. “ _Make_ me your default. If someone else orders you to attack or to kill and you are forced to comply, then you will bring your mission to me and complete it _on me_ and _no one else_.”

 

“NO!” Steve shouts again and T’Challa’s praetorian guard seize him from behind, restrain his arms while his body flails wildly in defiance of her words. “NO!” he cries once more, only a hair’s breath away from thrashing them but he sees the look in Zaara’s eyes and suddenly he cannot move, cannot resist them.

 

She’s frozen him to the spot.

 

“ _Confirm_ ,” Zaara commands the Soldier, keeping one eye on Steve.

 

There is a moment of silence before the Soldier raises his eyes to meet hers.

 

“ _Confirmed.”_

 

 

 

~

 

 

                                                                             

The ride home is a tense affair. Zaara is squashed between Steve and Bucky and there is no escape, no place for her to hide. They sit in silence, the air thick with rage. It could be cut with a knife.

 

“I had to,” she says finally while their hearts pound and their chests burn. “I’m sorry, okay. There was no other way.”

 

Bucky just shakes his head, not wanting to think of what could happen if the Soldier runs amuck. He’s not been so close to crying since he came out of the ice, not even when she showed him those images of his mother. His breath is raw and his throat tightens up and he takes her hand in his, bringing it to his lips. “Hurting you is something I never want to do, doll. How could I live with myself if I ever did that? You’re tearing me apart.”

 

“Can’t you see?” she pleads, his pain mixing so intricately with her own that she cannot tell whether the tears that come to her eyes are for his sake or hers. “It’s the _only_ way. If anyone ever managed to take you from us and bring out the Soldier, then you’d find your way back to me. You saw how I froze Steve in there. I could do that to the Soldier. It’d be okay.”

 

“The Soldier, it . . . it’s evil,” Bucky stammers while Steve bites his lip and fights for control. “What if it hurts the kids? Or someone you love? What if it hurts _you?_ ”

 

“He’s right,” Steve spits out bitterly, trying not to let his anger explode all over them. He could smash something right now, but he clenches his hands into fists instead while his arms tremble.

 

“Steve,” Zaara lowers her voice in gentle apology. “I’m sorry I had to freeze you. The Soldier might have tried to defend me if you approached us.”

 

“You shouldn’t have done it!” he snaps at her, all pretext abandoned.

 

“Guys,” Zaara says quietly, resting her hands upon both their thighs. It calms them slightly, gives both of them a sudden, sexual rush and she takes advantage of it to say her peace. “Think about it and you’ll know I’m right. Even if someone else tries to take over the Soldier, I know Bucky will fight him. You managed to interfere with him before, remember? You recognized Steve back in DC and you left him, didn’t you? You could have kept fighting, but you ran away instead.”

 

Bucky shakes his head.

 

“Face it,” she stares hard at him, then at Steve. “This is only an emergency safeguard. A trip-wire. You have to trust me; I know what I’m doing. We’re still going to get rid of those words and after that, no one will ever be able to summon the Soldier again. He’ll be gone and none of this will matter. But until that time, we need a nuclear option and I’m it. I have to be—there’s no one else. I understand why that bothers you, but it’s the only way.”

 

“You never gave us a chance to make that call,” Steve grimaces, still clenching his fists. “You had it all figured out.”

 

“I did what I had to do,” she replies quietly. “Bucky—you don’t need to worry about the school,” her voice changes tone. “The Soldier never hurts children.”

 

“How do you know?” Bucky’s eyes are puffy now from fighting back tears.

 

“I know,” she says with absolute certainty, her voice grim. “Because the Soldier would have turned his gun on himself if Hydra ever ordered him to harm a child. Even the Winter Soldier had his limits.”

 

Steve and Bucky stare at her in shock. Steve feels a little sick to his stomach while Bucky gulps in shame.

 

“It’s the truth,” she says quietly. “Search yourself, Bucky. You never told anyone. But I read it while you were frozen in cryo. And I also read that . . . ” she stammers, knowing how horrible it is to put into words, “that sometimes you _wished_ they ordered you to harm a child because . . . because then your nightmare would be over.” He stares at her in horror and she slowly puts her arms around him. Unwittingly, he releases a sob before he swallows down the rest for it’s something to have another human being know this secret, dark truth about himself.

 

_You’re right, angel. I wanted to end it. Sometimes, I wanted it to be over so bad. Sometimes, I just wanted to die._

Steve’s eyes fill with tears and he has not felt this miserable since Peggy died. _This is all my fault._ He reaches his long arms around Bucky, seizing his best friend in a desperate, ragged embrace with Zaara squashed in between them. The three of them huddle this way, holding each other as Steve finally comes to terms with the searing pain of it all, the harrowing truth behind Bucky’s existence, the nightmare that lasted decade after decade until he is left despondent and wondering whether it would have been better for Bucky to have died in the war. _At least he wouldn’t have suffered like this._ Bucky clings to Zaara, burying his face in her hair without looking up, and Steve finds himself pressing his lips to the top of Bucky’s head. “I’m so sorry, Buck. It was all my fault. I should have saved you.”

 

“Let it go, guys,” Zaara whispers, wiping the few tears Bucky allowed to fall down his cheek. They feel warm and sticky on her hand and she marvels at how he can feel so deeply given the strange barrier he still has in his mind. Indeed, the intimacy is almost too much for the three of them, body heat trapped in the back seat of the car while they practically breathe each other’s breaths. Bucky is unable to speak and she releases him slowly, dropping her hands back down on her own lap. Steve reluctantly does the same, grief mixing with his desire for Zaara, his love for Bucky coming in waves that make his chest heave.

 

Bucky still cannot speak.

 

“You’re safe now, Bucky,” Zaara says softly as the humming engine of the car merges with the soothing tone of her voice. “The nightmare is over. I may be asking the impossible, but you’ll come to understand. It’s all going to be alright. Soon we’ll go home, and you’ll be living in a big house full of enhanced people. It’s the safest place for you and if the Soldier ever comes out, there’ll be lots of us there to help take care of him.”

 

Slowly, they recover from the intensity of their strange, anguished embrace. Not daring to speak, alone with their own thoughts about the Winter Soldier, she knows the men’s anger remains unresolved. Steve grapples with horrendous guilt over Bucky’s suffering and both men are still horrified by the idea of using Zaara as a safety default. She accepts it with the same bitterness she harbours over her own limitations in life and sighs sadly to herself.

_Bucky’s not the only one who has a monster inside_.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Lunch is a tense affair.

 

Ellie actually sits in Bucky’s lap the entire time, practically feeding him with her own spoon since he is so reluctant to eat. Zaara sits close beside them and thanks God that Steve keeps Henry occupied, though he cannot stop himself from glaring at her every so often. The session so overwhelmed Bucky and he is wracked with shame to have had Zaara interact with the Winter Soldier at all, let alone to be under orders to seek her out and _harm her_ if her initial commands are thwarted. It leaves him lost and she purposefully doesn’t try to comfort him. He has to accept this reality, move through these feelings, and so does Steve. Their safety net is in place and they can finally start to plan their prison break from the Raft and their trip home.

 

They send the children on their way and Zaara insists on skipping ballet class. "Come on, guys,” she says gently. “Let’s go for a swim—a quiet swim, without the children. Adults, only. And then, maybe you’ll stop hating me.”

 

“We don’t hate you,” Steve demurs, but her words bring a pang into his heart and he still can’t shake his anger at what she did. “Having some trouble trusting you, though.”

 

“Alright, then,” she murmurs sadly. “Say your peace. I’m listening.”

 

“How could you do this? You promised to consult us about everything. _Everything._ You took away his choice. Neither of us wants to risk you getting hurt. We _never_ would’ve agreed to that,” Steve trembles, not wanting her to know his fear for her safety motivates him more than anything else.

 

“Don’t speak for me, Steve,” Bucky says softly.

 

“Sorry,” he immediately apologizes.

 

“I trust her, even if you don’t,” Bucky counters.

 

“No, Steve is right,” Zaara confesses, finally, in shame. As a parent, she often has days where she feels she can’t do anything right. For better or for worse, this feels like one of them. “I messed up. I _did_ take away your choice, Bucky, and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. The reason I did it was I saw an opportunity. I had a chance to talk to the Soldier, so I took it. I made the best choice I could with the time that I had, and I was wrong. I hurt you both and I hate that.”

 

Steve winces.

 

She pauses a moment to acknowledge him, then continues. “You saw how the Soldier flinched when I told him to take orders from Steve.”

 

“That’s not what I object to,” Bucky replies.

 

“I know,” she admits. “It . . . it just seemed like the next step, a necessary step. I’ve done everything I can to stop the Soldier for now. You don’t need to be afraid for me, Bucky . . . What if I show you some of what I can do? Steve’s seen it already.” She sends an image into his mind, and he reluctantly nods his head.

 

Steve wonders what the hell is going to happen now.

 

Summoning her telekinetic energy, Zaara gently raises Bucky’s body up into the air with the power of her mind. She holds him in place, his feet dangling over their heads, and slowly turns him around in a circle. “You feel safe?” she asks, and he nods again.

 

“Still trust you,” he smirks, willing himself to relax. Really, it’s not as shocking to experience Zaara’s powers after the battle at the airport in Leipzig, all those people using their weird powers. _Especially that little flying red-head._

 

“Okay,” she gives him a small smile and gently turns him upside down so that his hair dangles over them for a bit, making him chuckle. She toys with his tresses for a moment; his hair is getting quite long and she wraps it between her fingers playfully before she turns him right side up again and lowers him to the ground. “There.” She glances over at Steve. “Does it look like I’m equipped to handle an attack from the Soldier?”

 

Steve huffs unhappily. “I still don’t like it. It’s dangerous.”

 

“Life is dangerous,” she snorts. “Our children are dangerous, too. Being born a mutant puts your life in danger. Both of you are something like us now, anyways. They could come for Bucky or they could come for us, or for our students. There’s always gonna be risk. But the difference is we look out for each other. We guard each other, we keep watch for threats. We do our best.”

 

“Well, we’re stuck with it now,” Bucky says sensibly. “Besides, Steve, there’s a good chance it was the right thing to do. I forgive her. I trust her. She ain’t perfect, but she’s still an angel to me.”

 

Zaara shakes her head, frowning. “I’m no angel, Bucky.”

 

“You are to me,” he moves closer and puts his arm around her. “It’s alright, sweetheart. I know you did your best. Steve’ll come round. Let’s go swimming.” He cups her chin so tenderly in his hand and raises her eyes up to meet his. It makes her feel like she’d do anything to take away his pain.

 

_I’m so sorry, Bucky._

 

_Forget about it, doll. What’s done is done. I trust you. It’s gonna be okay._

 

Steve stands there alone, watching the exchange between them as though bereft.

 

She fixes her gaze upon him. “Well, it’s better than sitting around here all afternoon. We could use a change of scenery.”

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

The sight of Zaara in a billowing white tunic under the bright blue skies of Wakanda, all swaying palm trees and thundering waterfalls, gently coaxes Steve to shift his frame of mind. He still feels grim, however, and his mood remains stubborn and somewhat dark. Zaara fervently wishes the two of them could get a chance to talk in private, but they must put Bucky first. She leads them towards the pool, holding Bucky’s hand while Steve follows close behind them.

 

“You know,” she stops suddenly and turns to them. “There’s a lagoon on the grounds not far from here. What if we go there instead? It’s more secluded and the staff won’t be hovering.”

 

Bucky looks at her and shrugs. “Whatever you say.”

 

“Bucky,” she scoops his face in her hand. “We’re gonna get through this.”

 

“Yeah,” he nods, glancing down at the ground for the umpteenth time. “Okay, doll.”

 

The three of them change direction and make their way towards the lagoon. It only takes minutes and Steve gasps since it’s the most beautiful place he’s ever seen in his life. It is, in fact, connected to the waterfall he used to watch out the window of his old suite in the servants’ wing. Zaara smiles and tosses off her delicate, translucent tunic, revealing the same red bathing suit she wore yesterday. Both men sigh, momentarily overcome by another kind of beauty. Zaara smiles and blushes a little

 

Bucky smiles, too, and elbows Steve when she leaves them to go into the water. “I like these new bathing suits, pal.”

 

Steve silently agrees.

 

Zaara’s long, brown locks swish over her bare back and Bucky feels transported to a different place entirely. Gingerly, she steps into the lagoon one toe at a time. They watch her every move, their eyes locked on her bare, muscular legs. The lagoon feels much cooler than the pool, though not impossibly so, and she turns around, her smile even wider. “I can’t bring the kids here since there aren’t any lifeguards. So we might as well enjoy it while we can, without them.”

 

Steve finally cracks a grin and sheds a good deal of his anger. Her apologetic smile tells him that she really did want to do right by Bucky. Indeed, he pulls off his t-shirt and rushes into the water, hardly able to tear his eyes from her. He’s not used to going bare chested, but he couldn’t resist with the weather so hot and sky so blue. It makes him feel free, though it only intensifies his longing. He quickly submerses himself before anything embarrassing can be seen and, thankfully, the cool water helps stave off some of his desire. However, he reminds himself he may be spending the night by her side again and wonders how on earth he will manage it this time.

 

Bucky finally lets crack a grin of his own, transfixed by Zaara in her red swimsuit, wildly grateful for the way dames no longer feel a need to hide their bodies these days, but the cool water has the same effect on him as it did on Steve and it is something of a relief. He submerses himself up to his neck while Zaara remains standing, the water barely grazing her thighs.

 

“Whatcha waitin’ for doll?” he cracks, winking at Steve.

 

“I like to go slow,” she says innocently. “It’s a bit cooler than the swimming pool.”

 

“Come on, pal,” Bucky cocks at eyebrow at his best friend. “Will ya gimme a hand?”

 

“Oh, no . . .” Zaara shudders to herself, picturing it in her mind’s eye for Bucky can hide nothing from her.

 

Steve’s not sure what to do, but he figures Zaara’s gotta be in on it, being a mindreader at all. Still, she screams when they grab her by her legs and promptly toss her into the water. She surfaces, hair soaking wet, giggling and screaming and pops up high to press both hands on top of Steve’s head in revenge. He gets a full dunking and the exquisite feel of her incredibly soft breasts against his bare chest as they plunge below the water and resurface together. He cannot help but clutch her tightly around her waist, pressing her into him for the briefest moment.

 

“You’re next, Bucky,” she warns laughing, and swims away the second Steve releases her. It’s easier to be playful than to think too much about having those hard muscles and slippery wet skin against her own softness.

 

“You gotta catch me first,” Bucky grins saucily and dives away from them.

 

“Steve,” she turns back to him, shivering gooseflesh all over her heaving breasts. “You gonna let him get away with that?”

 

“Nah,” Steve lunges and grabs hold of Bucky, wrapping one arm around his sopping wet chest and dragging him right back to her. Bucky poses no resistance at all and, indeed, it feels sublime to be brought back to Zaara and presented to her as if he is her property. “But I’ll let you do the honors, ma’am.”

 

Zaara laughs and does another little hop, her toes barely scraping the soft soil on the bottom of the lagoon, and presses her palms over Bucky’s head to give him a good dunking. He surfaces, chest brushing against her breasts just as Steve’s did, and puts his arm around her, pulling her close. He’s tempted now to kiss her dripping wet lips and for a moment his breath blows right over her mouth. Zaara trembles, but doesn’t stop smiling. He’s so handsome, he smells so good and well, she practically adores him. He’s such a good man deep down inside, underneath all the damage wrought by the Winter Soldier. She tenderly brings her hands to his cheeks.

 

“Bucky,” she smiles sadly. _Not this, honey. We can’t go there._

 

He looks down and tries not to stare at her breasts floating so softly while she treads water. It is too deep her for her to stand so he holds her up, his arm around her waist. “Sorry, doll.”

 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” her smile widens and she refuses to let him go. “You’re feeling better. That’s all I want.”

 

Steve can’t hold the back the ache in his heart, so he decides to take the plunge. “Guess it’s my turn to dunk the two of you now.”

 

Zaara screams as Steve wraps his enormous arms around them and all three end up under the water together, laughing and splashing and squirming. When they surface, Zaara swims away playfully while the men grab at her, catching an arm here or a leg there. But they let her slip away so she swims back up the bank. Steve and Bucky watch, unable to stop themselves, from getting an eyeful of her curves, soft creamy skin dripping wet. She pulls herself up onto the bank, keeping her legs partly submerged under the water, and props herself onto her elbows.

 

Without the distraction of children or anything else, the two of them finally drink in the sight of her and, at nearly the same moment, their eyes detect the light, silvery traces of lines that shimmer when the bright sunlight hits her skin. They’re there, up and down the length of her arms, messy scribbles looking as if they were made by fine, opalescent markers. Since they met her, Zaara has always worn long sleeves and they have never really seen her naked arms before. Steve glances at Bucky, who shrugs. The two of them swim closer until Bucky rests his hand upon her ankles, rubbing gently.

 

“What’s that on your arms, doll?” he asks softly, not wanting to be rude. Of course he knows she has already detected his thought so he continues stroking her slowly and tenderly until a flash of feeling emanates from her mind into his own.

 

Pain.

 

“Scars,” she manages to croak, trying to swallow back her memories. It’s been a rough day and she really doesn’t want to think about them.

 

Steve waits, frowning.

 

“How’d you get ‘em?” Bucky asks hesitantly.

 

Zaara closes her eyes, trying to shove her feelings away. Finally, she clears her throat and looks over at the waterfall. “A fight.”

 

“A fight?” Steve can’t help repeating her words out loud. He feels fear for her. And anger. “Who hurt you?”

 

Bucky receives a second flash of her pain, but it is not the physical kind. Instead, it is the peculiar sort of pain that is born of fear. _But that ain’t fear,_ he realizes. _It’s terror._

 

“Sorry about that, Bucky,” she whispers.

 

“S’okay, doll,” he shakes his head. “You’re scared. Not your fault.”

 

“I was in a fight, a fight with Sabretooth,” her breaths quicken slightly, but she tells herself she has control over the memory. “Before you ask—it was bad. Really bad. But I’m alive and I’m okay. We treated the wounds with all kinds of ointments and medicines. Tried to heal them, but we couldn’t get rid of them all. So, I’m stuck with them. I try to keep them covered up.”

 

Steve swallows, wondering how they failed to notice so many scars before. But the last time they went swimming, he had eyes only for Henry. And Bucky had been looking after Ellie, so caught up in his own recovery he had not noticed the light, silvery blemishes she bears upon her arms. When she came out of the water, she was swift to pull on her cover-up. Indeed, even with his supersoldier sight, the marks are so light he practically has to squint in order to see them, unless the sun shines on them in just the right way. “Sabretooth?” The sound of the name, the idea of a monster hurting her, makes him positively homicidal.

 

“Yeah,” Zaara sighs, trying to give only the most minimal amount of information. She really does not wish to talk about it. “He’s, uh, one of the bad mutants in the world. There’s not many, but the ones that are bad are, well, really, _really_ bad.”

 

“I’m so sorry, honey,” Bucky says with so much tenderness it makes her want to cry. Indeed, she receives an image of his lips kissing her scars up and down her arms so lovingly it takes her breath away. Suddenly, she kicks his hand from her ankle, splashing both men in the face.

 

“Oh, just stow it and go swimming,” she says with forced mirth. “We have to pick up the kids in a little while.” She looks back up at the gorgeous waterfall, forcing her mind away from her pain.

 

Bucky, sensing what she needs, sticks his tongue out at Steve and gives him a good splashing. Zaara gives them a hesitant grin and backs away as they start to wrestle as if they are putting on a show for her. Indeed, the sight of two handsome, muscular supersoldiers tussling in the middle of a lagoon is a sight to behold. Somehow Bucky manages to shove Steve directly under the waterfall. They tangle there like a couple of kids and she watches, two beautiful men swimming and laughing. They take turns dunking each other, shoving each other under the waterfall, but they cannot stop from glancing her way for long moments, their gazes always returning to hers, one after the other.

 

When it is nearing time to leave, her pain all but forgotten, Zaara’s mostly dried off but she steps back into the water anyways. “Say, before we go, can we talk?” she asks them softly. For a moment, all they can hear is the rush of the waterfall.

 

“Nothin’ to discuss,” Bucky shakes his head and playfully scoops her up with his one arm only to drop her down into the water. She giggles and shivers, soaking wet all over again, but it does not deter her. She stares hard at Steve.

 

“I know how you feel,” she says to Bucky, but her eyes are locked on Steve. “It's him I’m not so sure of.”

 

It is true that Steve feels better after this swim, though her words bring him back down to earth. He realizes she was right to approach him in this place. He’s let his guard down. “I know you did what you thought was right,” he acknowledges, and it feels so different to talk in a lagoon, bodies trickling with droplets of water, a rushing stream pouring over the rocks. “And that’s all any of us can do.”

 

“I hope you’ll forgive me, that you’ll trust me again,” she replies softly. He listens carefully, but it’s hard to concentrate with her bare shoulders sticking up out of the water, her breasts floating so beautifully in the foam while they break the surface over and over again. His eyes wander briefly over her scars but the dampness of her face, the way her long tendrils of hair float and undulate through the water like some sort of ethereal mermaid hypnotises him. But she continues, undaunted. “I’m sorry I let you down. I feel terrible. As a parent, you learn to strike while the iron is hot, make the best decision you can while you have the chance to make it, always knowing you’re going to make mistakes.”

 

Steve sighs, hating to see her suffer, but secretly glad to know she cares. It makes him realizes he _matters_ to her, and that gives him a wild sort of hope. “You’re not saying you made the wrong decision this time?”

 

“I regret hurting you and Bucky,” she clarifies. “Absolutely. But, if we had time to discuss it beforehand, I still would have wanted to make myself the default. I really do think it was the best decision. And I hope you’ll forgive me.”

 

“Well,” Steve muses, and the water is really drawing him out of himself, the sight of her long hair billowing in the ripples of the lagoon finally melts his resolve. “I guess I understand what it’s like to have to make a split-second decision or two.”

 

She gives him her brightest smile. “Thanks, Steve. That means everything to me,” and she throws her arms around him so spontaneously it shocks her to feel the sensation of his hard, wet muscles against her own softness once again. It really is the most incredible feeling in the world—what a burning joy it is, to hold him close to her body. Already she can imagine all the longings that will come from the memory of it. But she releases him and laughs softly, swimming away.

 

He watches, pinching himself for his good luck, and resists swimming after her because all he wants to do is take her back into his arms and he doubts he’ll be able to control what happens after that.

 

Bucky smiles sardonically, having watched the whole while. “You’re such a jerk sometimes, you know.”

 

“I know,” Steve nods, as Zaara climbs back up onto the bank. “Was worth it, though.”

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

By the time they put the children to bed, the three of them are slumped down on the couch, exhausted. Even so, Zaara teases the men lightly. “Gee, I’m not even a supersoldier and you both look as tired as I feel.”

 

“Hey, you didn’t chase the kids around the pool for two straight hours,” Steve sasses her back.

 

“With one arm,” Bucky adds smugly. “Say, before we hit the sack, I know a way to take our minds off everything.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Zaara asks, surprised. Perhaps it is her fatigue, but she hadn’t noticed anything going on in his mind.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky retorts. “All those ballet classes of yours made me decide I need to teach you how to _really_ dance.”

 

“You’re going to teach _me_ how to dance?” she snorts. “Is that so, Sergeant Barnes?”

 

“Yeah, that’s so, Miss Xaviar,” he chortles. “’Cause you and Stevie here don’t know the difference between a waltz and a jive.”

 

Steve smiles meekly, but he is far too taken by the thought of holding Zaara in his arms. He’d give anything to have her there again.

 

Zaara winces. “Alright. If we skip the movie and I don’t pass out, I guess you can teach me a dance or two.”

 

Bucky cackles and actually rubs his palms together. “We’ll start with something slow. Take it easy.”

 

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Or I’ll end up stepping on your toes.”

 

“Nah, that’s somethin’ Steve would do.” They head into the entertainment room and Bucky quickly masters the stereo system. He selects Harry James which makes Steve rolls his eyes in exasperation. With great gusto, Bucky takes Zaara into a tight, closed hold while Steve watches. They begin to move. A slow, seductive rendition of _You Made Me Love You_ takes over _._  Zaara is vaguely familiar with the song, though there is no singer. Bucky has chosen a version with a plaintive trumpet instead and he holds her close with his one arm, mastering her body, moving her gently and inexorably to the sultry beat. "Just keep your hand on my shoulder, doll,” he purrs with a beguiling smile, leading her with no difficulty at all. “I’ll do the rest.”

 

“Humph,” Zaara snorts, trying not to let his closeness distract her from the steps. He towers over her, a tall mountain of muscle that moves with alarming grace, hips swerving ever so slightly, matching the irresistible drawl of the solo trumpet. _Wow, Harry James made the trumpet sound sexy_ , she realizes.

 

All too soon, the song ends. “Now, you try it with Steve,” he smirks, catching an inkling of how their dance made her feel. He realizes all too well that she knows just how he feels about her, and he accepts that those feelings are not exactly appropriate. She knows it’s not his fault he feels this way, even though it’s out of bounds. So to take the edge off, he decides to watch her dance with Steve. _It’s the next best thing to holding her myself. And it’s gonna give that boy a real thrill. He'll pop his cork, I bet._

_Stop it, Bucky,_ Zaara tries not to roll her eyes at him, jealously guarding her feelings for Steve from his awareness.

 

Steve hesitates, for it is almost too much to have Zaara back in his arms again for the length of an entire song. But Bucky re-plays  _You Made Me Love You_  and they are swept away. To dance with Zaara feels sweet and intimate, especially now that she's in her pajamas and he is still dressed. Her hands, so delicate in his own, make his mind wander to the scars hidden up her long sleeves. Back at the lagoon, he actually found them quite alluring, leaving him with the strange urge to run his lips over them. She is so beautiful to him, really the loveliest girl he has ever had the chance to be this close to, and he wishes the song would last forever.

 

“You got two left feet, pal,” Bucky shakes his head in disgust, and the spell is broken. “I’m gonna do somethin’ about that.”

 

Before she knows it, Zaara finds herself hemmed in by two large, masculine bodies, Bucky mirroring Steve’s steps to take his position behind her while Steve counts out loud, his voice trembling. Zaara finds it impossible to count since this sort of dancing is so unfamiliar to her. Their movements are terribly slow and with steps so small and bodies so close, it hardly feels like a dance at all. It’s really more of an extended embrace. She tilts her face up to meet Steve’s and he tilts his face down to meet hers with a curious expression of adoration, desire, and fear.

 

 _He’s scared of Bucky teasing him, of taking a wrong step_ , she realizes with a compassion that undoes her entirely.

_He sure as hell is, doll,_ Bucky cackles.

 

“Now what was that?” Steve stops, somehow detecting the exchange between the two of them.

 

“Just keep going, Steve. You’re doing great,” Zaara glares at Bucky for a moment with disapproval. Steve is so earnest. _He tries so hard. God, what woman wouldn’t want to be with a man like him?_ But she is careful to cloak her thoughts from Bucky this time. She finds herself facing Steve again, looking directly into his eyes, those baby blues so clear and intense they shine their light upon her and make her want nothing more than to surrender. It is almost too much to bear. How could she want anything other than to be with this man? She knows he has feelings for her—she read them in his mind when they met.

 

Steve’s breath quickens and he is melting, losing his ability to concentrate. _I’m doing this for Bucky,_ he tells himself. But he thinks again of Zaara’s scars and gets angry. _It’s safer to feel angry,_ he realizes, especially since he’s given up his anger about her becoming the Winter Soldier’s safety default. Instead, he feels anger over her scars, anger at the monster who gave them to her, and it’s a cushion for him. It protects him from the way he really feels about her, here and now, while she dances in his arms.

 

Zaara feels a tinge of his rage and, mistaking it for the anger he had earlier about Bucky’s safety default, realizes it is time to call it a night.

 

“Boys,” she says softly. “I think I’ve run out of steam.”

 

Steve is somewhat relieved, actually, for he’s realized he’s going to have to do something about these feelings soon if he can’t keep them under wraps. He’ll probably have to talk to Bucky first, given what he knows of his fondness for Zaara. _I’m not gonna rain on his parade._ But he’s tired of denying his own feelings, weary of the burden of hiding. He wonders what it would take to get Zaara to go on a date with him, though he quickly berates himself for thinking of it, believing it unfair to ask that of her as long as he’s living under her roof. _What if she says no? Then she’ll feel awkward. Obligated. I want her to want to be with me because she wants it as much as I do. I want to do things right. I won’t pressure her._

 

Zaara smiles at them, but Bucky’s face turns grim and his voice sounds rough. “You’d better tell him. I’m heading to bed.”

 

“Goodnight,” Zaara whispers, and places a gentle kiss upon his cheek. Before she releases him, she wraps her arms around him and hugs him tight. “No worries, Bucky. It’s really okay. You are healthy and you are healing, and that’s all that matters. The rest of it is a wash.”

 

He sighs. “Thanks, doll. Goodnight.”  _You were right about it._

_It?_

 

_The Soldier._

_Thanks, Bucky._ Zaara smiles gently and watches him head to his room, his heart lighter even though his body pulsates with fatigue. It’s been a hell of a day and, though he loves to have connected with Zaara in the dance and back at the lagoon, he’s ready for it to be over and looks forward to curling up in bed. She is relieved. He can sleep on his own tonight. She turns to Steve. “We need to talk. I know it’s late and we’re both tired, but Bucky wants you to know something.”

 

“Know what?” Steve asks, secretly delighted to have her to himself, though he's also curious. They had already spoken in the lagoon. Surely Zaara understands everything’s alright between them now? But it makes no difference to him. Time alone with Zaara is precious and he hoards it.

 

“Well, you should talk to Bucky about it, but he wanted me to tell you that . . . that he’s having feelings for me,” she says hesitantly. “He wants me to reassure you. He’s so afraid I’ll be angry with him.”

 

“He, uh, has feelings for you?” Though he already knows the answer to the question, Steve’s heart is heavy.

 

“Yes,” she admits with chagrin. “And I want you to understand first and foremost that it’s a sign of recovery. It’s a good thing. And, I sort of had to expect it. He’s been alone for seventy years. You must have some sense of what that’s like.”

 

Steve nods silently, needing no further explanation. He knows all too well how Bucky feels.

 

“He’s a man, of course. He can’t help that, either,” Zaara continues, biting her lip. “And he hasn’t really been around women in a long time; at least, women who aren’t assassins. I keep telling him it’s alright, as long as he doesn’t take it seriously. We’re constantly together, we have this tether, these feelings are bound to come up. I guess I should have warned you about it before, but it’s really not a problem to me. It’s just sort of a side effect, I guess.”

 

"Makes sense,” Steve agrees, hoping his worry doesn’t show on his face. He wants nothing to compromise Bucky’s healing. And he wants nothing to take him away from Zaara because, God help him, he’s having feelings for her, too, though he certainly can’t confess it. Not yet. Bucky comes first.

 

“It’s just that, well, he has to understand nothing can happen between us,” she continues, searching for the right words. “For lots of reasons. It’s a question of ethics, mostly.”

 

“Soldiers tend to fall for nurses,” Steve points out. If Bucky has a chance at love, he’d never want to blow it for him, even though it would hurt like hell because damn it, he has his own feelings for Zaara. But he would put them aside—for Bucky. “Happened to my parents.”

 

“Yes,” she agrees. “But nowadays there are lots of ethical reasons not to date someone you’re trying to heal, whether medically or telepathically. But the truth is, I don’t date. At all.”

 

“You don’t date,” Steve finds himself repeating her words, numbly. “ _At all?”_

 

Zaara shakes her head. “No, I don’t. I can’t.”

 

“Oh,” Steve isn’t sure what to say. For once, he’s stumped.

 

“And, I need you to reinforce that to Bucky. Because he won’t want to accept it,” she adds, as if trying to convince herself.

 

“Alright,” Steve finds himself uttering the word, though his mind is a million miles away. Numb, he does not think to ask her why. All he can register is his own shock and a deep sense of disappointment. _Good thing I didn’t write Sharon off_ , he thinks glumly, but the idea of Sharon doesn’t exactly comfort him. It’s not as if he’s torn between the two of them. Zaara clearly has something he wants very badly while Sharon—well, Sharon is something of a lark. She’s the peach that lived across the hall, the girl he had a crush on, Peggy’s niece, and a very sweet lady who did him more than her share of favors and he owes her a lot. He never really got to know her and she kept so much concealed from him, though he begrudgingly admits it was through no fault of her own. But the connection he shares with Zaara is profoundly different. Everything’s changed since he met her and, as for her saying she doesn’t date, well, he figures there’s always hope. There’s no reason he can see on earth for it and he figures it must have something to do with the kids, or with her being a mutant. There seems to be no other man in her life. She must not want to confuse the children or make things complicated for them. Perhaps that’s why Zaara spoke to him of Bucky; perhaps that’s the point—she doesn’t want Bucky to think there’s hope.

 

But, the truth is, Steve constantly reads feelings and sensations from her. All of the time, as a matter of fact, although he doesn’t exactly consider himself an expert in the matters of love or in the art of reading a woman. But he’s learned to trust his gut since it’s kept him alive on more than one occasion, to put it mildly. And his gut tells him it’s in the way Zaara looks at him, and the way she smiles. It’s the way she touches him so gently at times she practically drives him mad with need and he knows Bucky, just like himself, must long to touch her back, to care for her, to make her feel good. To make her happy. Her tenderness does him in. And he’s not sure what to do about her now aside from wait; that’s the other thing his gut is telling him. And if waiting is what she requires, then that’s what he’ll do.

 

“So, we have a meeting with T’Challa tomorrow,” Zaara briskly interrupts his thoughts, hoping plaintively that the matter of her love life has been put to rest. “Has Captain America come up with another one of his brilliant plans for our prison break? We haven’t had a chance to discuss it.”

 

Steve nods, his attention abruptly yanked back to the problem of the Raft. “I’m working on it, but I’ve got something.”

 

“No surprise there,” she cackles, rather relieved that topic of her dating life seems to be over.

 

“Well, first of all, I need a breakdown of your powers,” Steve begins. “I need to know what we’re working with because the priority is to make it look like it’s all me.” _Once a soldier, always a soldier._ “Ross wants me already, so I take the blame. We can’t let them find out about Bucky or you—or the X-men, whoever they are. The Blackbird can help cover our tracks.”

 

“Do you have any idea how they’re holding Wanda Maximoff?” she asks. “It doesn’t make any sense to me. That girl has a crazy amount of power. If I had Cerebro, I could find out . . . Let me see if I can get some intel on that. I’ll call Storm tonight.”

 

“Would help,” Steve admits.

 

“You know, I can do all sorts of things with my powers,” she muses. “But I’m not very good at juggling too many balls at once. We’re going to have to be very selective.”

 

“Sounds like a we have a lot of options. I need to hear them all first, before I decide,” he nods, sounding like Captain America again.

 

“ _You_ decide?” Zaara squeaks, incredulous.

 

“Yes,” Steve continues, undaunted. “ _I_ decide. We work as a team, but you follow my lead because it doesn’t sound like you have any experience with prison breaks if you’re not even sure what to wear to one.” He cannot resist this light tease at her expense.

 

“Oh, come on,” Zaara grouches, but secretly, she is relieved for Steve to take the lead. After all, who would be more qualified to direct a rescue operation? Of the few of them who are left, she’d only put Storm’s leadership skills against his. “I was only kidding about the wardrobe, by the way. It’s not like I have any stars and stripes hanging in my closet.”

 

“No Captain Canada uniform, then?” Steve smirks.

 

“Oh, I can’t stand him. He’s such a jerk,” Zaara’s mind wanders back to her few encounters with Canada’s Vindicator. _Ugh._

 

Steve shakes his head. “Whatever we do, we’ve got to make them think I did it, more or less, on my own.”

 

“Now, I don’t see how _that’s_ realistic,” Zaara puts her hands on her hips. “No offence, of course. Even with all your skills, you’d need some sort of team to help you break into the Raft.”

 

“They just don’t need to know who the team is, or suspect that they’re enhanced,” Steve points out.

 

“You’re right,” she sighs. “Maybe T’Challa will have some ideas.”

 

“Maybe so,” he nods. He feels more in control now, back in his element, even if it is the end of a very long day and he got to hold Zaara in his arms again. “He’ll need to be informed, at the very least, but he’s already offered his help and we’ll need it.”

 

“Well, I’ll let you sleep on it, then,” she says, her voice finally faltering. “Goodnight, Steve.”

 

“Sweet dreams,” he says softly, watching her figure disappear behind her door. He cannot quell the longing in his voice. When he climbs into bed beside Bucky, he sighs. “Well, pal. It’s been a helluva day.”

 

“You ain’t kiddin’,” Bucky shakes his head ruefully, already half-asleep.

 

“She’s quite a dame,” Steve muses to himself.

 

“The very best,” Bucky nods. “She knows I’m fallin’ for her and she doesn’t mind. She just doesn’t want me to get hurt, but Steve I, I can’t help myself.”

 

“I know,” he says simply. “But she told me she doesn’t date—anyone.”

 

“I know,” he nods. “But she's everything to me.”

 

“Buck, it’s gonna be alright,” Steve says reassuringly.

 

“How do you know?”

 

“I just do,” he says with what Bucky thinks is unwarranted certainty. “She handled the Soldier today, she shows she cares about you. And about us—a lot. Trust in that, even if she makes mistakes. The Soldier is contained as much as he can be, ‘til we get rid of him. Things are going well. We just gotta get you passed all this, back to living your life.”

 

“Whatever you say, pal,” Bucky sighs again and rolls over onto his stomach, his face hidden by his pillow. After a while, he falls asleep and dreams of the Winter Soldier. But this time, it is no nightmare.

 

_The Soldier holds Zaara in its arms and runs its cold, metallic fingers up and down her naked back. She shivers. It tears off its mask and tenderly kisses her mouth, drinking her in, its long hair tickling her cheeks until it traces its lips down her face. She poses no resistance, drops her head back and sighs, baring her throat and submitting to its kisses. She tangles her hands in its long hair and moans, reveling in the feel of damp, silken locks between her fingers. Boldly, the Soldier uses its metal hand to cup her breast, registering automatic calculations of body heat, density, and mass through the interface. But it wants more. It uses its thumb to graze over her nipple, back and forth, until she cries out, jutting her hips, revealing how badly she desires what it has to give her._

 

Steve dreams, too, finding himself back in the lagoon.

 

_Zaara swims playfully under the waterfall. Nude. A thrill shoots through my body but I’m not sure I should be here. She catches sight of me and smiles, standing up so I can see her. She lets the water flow over her breasts like some kind of mermaid and oh God, I want her so bad. I’m nervous but I swim over and put my arms around her, afraid she won’t want me. But she smiles again and kisses me, the waterfall running down our lips. We drink it in, together. I lift her up until she wraps her legs around me and I want to take her right away but I carry her behind the waterfall and we end up in some grotto I never knew was there. We kiss and I finally take her, make her mine, claim her until she cries out and clenches me over and over again in her warmth. I’ve never felt so good. I don’t want this to end. I look up at the stars but I only see a glimmer in the shadows. It’s Bucky. He sits there, eyes sparkling, watching us._

 

Alone in the master bedroom, Zaara’s dreams also bring her back to the lagoon, back to the place she fears most.

 

_Steve and Bucky swim and tussle with each other, vying for my attention. Their bare chests glisten in the moonlight, the muscles on their backs flash and undulate as they dive in and out of the water. I can’t take my eyes off them, they’re so handsome, so strong. So beautiful together. I bite my lip when they stop playfighting and come for me, take me into their arms, and carry me to the waterfall. Their bodies are completely bare, their swimsuits are gone, and I can see everything now. I want to fight them, but I can’t. I don’t have the strength. I hold my breath and it feels like I just stepped into paradise. All three of us kiss, their mouths on top of mine, and it tastes so sweet. So good. They run their hands all over me and I drown. So many caresses, so many hands on my body, pleasure so intense I swoon. I can’t take it. I’ve never felt anything so amazing. I never want this to end._

 

Zaara wakes, hot and sweating, gasping for air. She forces herself out of bed, heads for the bathroom, and splashes cold water on her face.

 

_I won’t let it happen._

_I can’t._


	10. Never Gonna Dance

 

 

_Though I’m left without a penny,_

_The wolf was discreet._

_He left me my feet_

_And so, I put them down on anything_

_But the la belle,_

_La perfectly swell romance._

_Never gonna dance_

_Never gonna dance_

_Only gonna love,_

_Never gonna dance._

_I’ll put my shoes on beautiful trees_

_I’ll give my rhythm back to the breeze_

_My dinner clothes may dine where they please_

_For all I really want is you._

_Never gonna dance_

_Never gonna dance_

_Only gonna love you,_

_Never gonna dance._

 

 

 

 

 

 

Steve and Bucky wake to the squirming of little bodies on top of theirs. Henry and Ellie wormed their way into bed with them late in the night and their kicking, tossing, and turning inevitably rouse the supersoldiers from their slumber. Steve figures they must have gotten so used to the presence of the children that their sleep cycle mostly continues undisturbed. The children clearly pose no threat, night after night, even though Henry did manage to give Bucky a bit of a shiner once. A foot in the eye is never any fun.

 

It seems to be alright with Zaara so far, this new habit of theirs. The four of them always seem to wake long before her. She obviously needs the most sleep out of everyone, anyways. Steve wonders what is in store for them today after yesterdays's harrowing meeting with the Winter Soldier. He realizes the State Dinner is coming soon. After that comes their mission to the Raft before they can begin the journey home.

 

 _Home,_ he thinks, and wonders what it will be like and if things will run as smoothly as they have in Wakanda, or if they are going to face some changes. For better or for worse, he has gotten pretty comfortable with the way things are and fervently hopes life will mostly stay with this new and unexpected family of his. _But we’ll be living at a school, after all_. _It’s apt to get a little crowded some of the time._

 

Bucky finally stirs and turns his back to avoid the kicks from Henry, but it is to no avail since he immediately begins to gnaw the patches of metal over Bucky’s left shoulder.

 

“No, Henry. Not that,” Steve warns, gently pushing the child’s mouth away.

 

“Aw, what’s he up to now?” Bucky groans, his flesh arm snuggling Ellie tight.

 

“Just nibbling on your, uh, patches,” Steve mumbles, still not quite awake. It is a luxury, this state he is in. No workouts to get out of bed for, no duties to attend to aside from these children and seeing to their mother. And, of course, looking after Bucky.  _I’m getting soft. But I won’t start training again until we’re back in the States. There’s too much work to be done with Bucky anyways. We’ve got all the time in the world. I’ll start a new routine later._

 

“Have at it, kid,” Bucky mumbles and snuggles closer to Ellie.

 

“Too hot!” Ellie complains, and Bucky reluctantly loosens his hold. She sits up. “Can we play matching game? No, wait, how about Clue?”

 

“Clue?” Steve asks, frowning. “Isn’t that the one we played the other day, the game with the murderer?”

 

“Uh huh,” Ellie nods enthusiastically. “Last time, Mr. Green killed Mr. Bodee with the lead pipe in the ballroom!”

 

Steve shakes his head disapprovingly. “Isn’t that too violent for children?”

 

Ellie laughs. “Bobby gave it to us as a present and we love it! And Mama says it’s a lot less violent than things on the TV.”

 

“She’s probably got that right,” Steve admits.

 

“Captain Steve,” Ellie asks, her eyes shining. “Can we watch some TV before Mama wakes up? Please, please!”

 

“TV!” Henry pipes up. “Pokemon! I want Pokemon!”

 

“No!” Ellie frowns. “My Little Pony!”

 

“Kids . . .” Steve warns. “Your mother is in charge of the TV, not us. Alright?”

 

“Does she let _you_ watch TV?” Ellie asks, crossing her arms.

 

“Sometimes,” Bucky laughs, finally waking. He sits up and curls Ellie back into his arm again. He feels so much better this morning, grateful to have a new day with no Winter Soldier in it. “How about a kiss, doll?”

 

“Yuck!” Ellie laughs and squirms to get away. “You got bad breath, Bucky. Go brush your teeth!”

 

“Look who’s talkin’,” Bucky grunts and releases her, grabbing Henry who is still gnawing on his metal patches. “Hey, buddy, let go.”

 

“Let go, Henry,” Steve warns, wanting to avoid damage. “Bucky’s boo boo is off limits.” But Henry refuses. Steve meets Bucky’s eyes, desperate. Force is not an option since the child is so young and Henry always gives as good as he gets.

 

“Oh, just tickle him,” Ellie tells them casually. “Want some help?” In a flash, she leaps back onto the bed, shrieking, and the four of them end up in a tickle fight until Henry finally releases Bucky.

 

“Are we gonna have to go through this every single morning, punk?” Bucky expostulates. Both their faces are red and they are panting from effort, but the children just run off, laughing and bouncing with more energy than the supersoldiers.

 

“Hope not,” Steve shrugs. “But we probably will. Remember—Zaara’s been doing this by herself ever since they were born. It’s really not so bad, is it?”

 

“Naw,” Bucky shakes his head, grinning. “Just a lot harder than I’d have imagined. Lemme go brush my teeth.”

 

Before the men can stop them, the children run and wake their mother. But Zaara is not at all grumpy. Indeed, she is quite pleased to join them all for breakfast and to have what she fervently hopes will be a most ordinary day for a class five mutant and two supersoldiers who live in a palace. She deliberately brushes off the tension from the day before, all the worries that plagued her about the Winter Soldier, not to mention her unwanted dreams about the two men who live with her and occasionally share her bed.

 

_It’s only a human body, after all. It’s built to have desires, all these crazy urges. Oh, God, I can’t believe I feel attracted to two men at the same time, but my body is not in charge of me._

 

Today, Zaara is due for a training session with Ayo, T’Challa’s top lieutenant. She has been forced to give up these workouts since Bucky came into her life and her body is feeling it. Ballet class is wonderful, but she needs to work her upper body and practice her fighting skills since they’re a fantastic stress buster. After yesterday, she could really use the relief. Despite all his reassurance, Steve’s disappointment still rings in her ears. It haunts her, actually. Disappointing him has somehow become her worst nightmare. She’s not sure whether it’s due to him being Captain America, or if it's something else.  _Of course that’s got to be it--who'd want to let Captain America down?_ But in reality, getting to know Steve as a person rather than an Avenger only makes it sting harder. She needs to clear her mind of it.

 

Her boxing coach back in the States called her a natural and it is one of the few things she feels a little bit proud of, though she has had little time to pursue it in anything but a casual way. Boxing came late into her life. She turned to it at a time when she felt helpless and profoundly alone. She began when Henry was only a few months old and managed to fit it into her weekly schedule along with ballet so that fitness has become something of a hobby for her. Physical fitness actually helps her with parenting since the children always seem to be going full throttle and she’s got to keep up with them. Indeed, being a high-powered mutant is no excuse for neglecting her physical health and with all her frustrations in life, beating a punching bag can be cleansing, a true form of escape that's not unlike disappearing into dance.

 

Bucky never had the chance to learn of Zaara’s training regime. She’s gotten much better at concealing things from him. Indeed, aside from catching a random flash of emotion from her as he did when he noticed her scars, she has become quite careful not to let him in. But before she can enjoy her workout, they must take the children to their school groups and attend a meeting with T’Challa in his private office.

 

“Your Highness,” Zaara greets him politely. Steve does the same.

 

“Ms. Xaviar,” the king nods back. “Sergeant Barnes.”

 

“Your Highness,” Bucky acknowledges him humbly. Steve is not the only one who feels deeply in T’Challa’s debt.

 

“T’Challa,” Steve begins, addressing him casually since this discussion is unofficial and off the record. “Our starting point for the operation is to make certain Ross and everyone else believe I’m responsible for breaking out the Raft. Not Wakanda, not the X-men, and definitely not the Avengers or what’s left of them. I’ve gotta be the only suspect.”

 

“And what shall we do about the warrant for your arrest?” T’Challa retorts.

 

“I’ll take care of it,” Zaara says quietly. “When we get back to New York.”

 

“You sure about that?” Steve asks, worried and wide-eyed. He hadn’t given it much thought. His own fate has been a low priority for him these days.

 

“Yeah,” she replies casually, as if it is no trouble at all. “Just focus on your friends. I think our goal should be to get in and get out before anyone knows what hit them.”

 

“But it should look like I’m the one responsible, cover our tracks when they come sniffing,” he insists.

 

Zaara considers it. “Well, we have lots of options.”

 

“I’m all ears,” he replies, sounding like more like Captain America than ever. But it is a ruse. Planning a mission with Zaara daunts him and is actually the reason why their plans have been so far delayed. Somehow, he cannot tolerate the thought of placing her in any danger. He’s never felt this way about any of his female teammates before and realizes it’s probably sexist of him since he’s not at all worried about Bucky’s ability to take care of himself.

 

“I could use telepathy to make the guards open the cells, so your friends could pretty much walk themselves out,” she shrugs casually. “But the guards will be interrogated, probably lose their jobs. And if they suspect mental manipulation . . .”

 

“Wanda,” Steve says grimly.

 

“Yeah,” Zaara agrees. “I could teleport them out of there instead. How about that?”

 

“Teleport?” Steve’s never heard the term before.

 

“Transport them with my mind,” Zaara explains patiently. “That’s how we should probably get down to the Raft in the first place.”

 

“As long as there are no records,” T’Challa rubs his chin, considering.

 

“I’ll kill the cameras. They won’t know what hit them,” Zaara asserts confidently.

 

T’Challa cants his head. “How close will you have to be?”

 

“Not sure,” she admits. “I’ll know when we get there. As long as Bucky’s a helluva pilot and can bring us in close enough, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

 

“I could use some practice, doll,” Bucky says, practically jumping at the chance to get back into the Blackbird’s pilot seat.

 

“You’ll get some,” she promises, tickled by his eagerness and putting her unwanted dream even further behind her. She sincerely hopes she won’t have another one like it again.

 

“What about the power dampening fields?” Steve asks.

 

“Power dampening fields?” Zaara repeats, incredulous.

 

“Yes, Ms. Xaviar,” T’Challa interjects. “You may be surprised by some of the new technologies that have been developed in conjunction with the rise of enhanced persons. It is, primarily, the method by which they subdue Ms. Maximoff.”

 

Steve wrinkles his nose, hating to imagine Wanda imprisoned. _She’s just a kid._

 

“Hmmm . . .” Zaara pauses, wishing more than ever she had access to Cerebro. “I’ll have to think about that. Has it been tested on mutants?”

 

“Not to my knowledge,” T’Challa admits. “General Ross is still not aware of your existence.”

 

“And we’d like to keep it that way,” Steve points out.

 

“Agreed,” Zaara nods. “Maybe we could do a test run. We could do a fly-by on the Blackbird and I could take a quick scan before the mission.”

 

“It’s a risk,” Steve shakes his head.

 

“Would you have us go in blind?” Zaara counters.

 

“Not blind,” T’Challa points out. “I’ll send a scout. They can take readings. In fact, I have some readings of my own from when I followed Mr. Stark there.”

 

“Sounds good,” she agrees. “When can we see them?”

 

“Now,” T’Challa replies, bringing up the data on his monitor.

 

“This is great,” Steve approves, scanning quickly through it. “Can we have anyone explain some of this tech, though? This is way above my pay grade.”

 

“I’ll talk to my best people,” T’Challa offers.

 

“I’ll take a peek, too,” Bucky offers. “In case it’s anything like Hydra tech.”

 

“Thank you for this, your Highness,” Steve says gratefully, wincing slightly at the pain bubbling beneath the surface of Bucky’s words. He positively hates to have anything remind Bucky of Hydra. _Had enough of that yesterday. Poor Buck._

 

“Yes, thank you,” Zaara echoes, grasping Bucky by the elbow. “We’ll head out. I have an appointment.”

 

“Before you go,” T’Challa claps his hands. “I have something to show you." A trio of technicians enter the office. They carry a strange looking box. “It is for you, Sergeant Barnes,” T’Challa nods quietly.

 

“Me?” Bucky says, disbelieving.

 

“Go ahead, Bucky,” Zaara smiles happily, seeing it now in T’Challa’s mind. _I wonder why I hadn’t noticed it before? It’s like he veiled it from me._ “It’s alright.”

 

The technicians open the box. Inside lays a prosthetic arm.

 

“I am afraid it has nowhere near the abilities of the Hydra arm they gave to the Winter Soldier,” T’Challa confesses. “However, you will find it most useful for every day purposes. It was designed for civilians.”

 

“I, I don’t know what to say,” Bucky murmurs, hopelessly humbled by the gift.

 

“Then just say thank you,” Zaara whispers, smiling at Steve who looks absolutely delighted. “It’ll make your life a lot easier, Bucky. You can even swim with it and get it wet.”

 

“Wow,” Bucky swallows, standing there helplessly while the technicians pat him on the shoulder, asking him to have a seat. “Like the cat's pajamas. Thank you.”

 

“They want you to remove your shirt,” Zaara says. “So they can attach it.”

 

“Uh, alright,” Bucky nods. Steve immediately helps him pull off his shirt, though Bucky has gotten quite adept at doing things one-handed. Zaara, who has not yet had a good look at Bucky’s bare chest, gasps to see the cruel scars covering the skin around his left shoulder. Thankfully, they provide a distraction from his otherwise perfect musculature.

 

The technicians swiftly attach the arm and Bucky struggles to establish the interface, but soon enough he is using it to lift small items from T’Challa’s desk. Only Zaara can read the pain it causes, to have the attachment latched upon his skin. She vows to do something about it later.

 

“How is it?” the king asks.

 

“Pretty good,” Bucky replies gratefully. “Thank you for this, T’Challa.”

 

“You are welcome, Sergeant Barnes,” he replies. “Your service in the war will not go forgotten by Wakanda.”

 

Zaara smiles, but bites her lip. 

 

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “And it’s really gonna help when I fold the laundry.”

 

All four of them chuckle.

 

“Let us adjourn for now,” T’Challa announces. “We can return to this tomorrow, with more information to guide us.”

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

“So, what’s your appointment today, doll?” Bucky asks, curious. Steve smirks, glad that Bucky has no trouble asking Zaara about anything. In some ways, it is positively shameless of him, but Bucky’s always been like that when it comes to dames. However, it actually serves Steve well since he covets information about Zaara.

 

“You’ll see,” Zaara smiles mysteriously. “First, I have to get changed.”

 

They wait for her in the parlour. When she comes out of her room, she is sporting an ensemble that reminds Steve of yoga gear. He’s noticed lots of women wearing that sort of thing these days and doesn’t mind it at all. It looks quite flattering on her, lots of straps and little ruffles on the sides.

 

“Are we going to the gym, then?” Steve asks, suspecting a yoga class.

 

“Well, yes,” Zaara grins enigmatically.

 

“What are you gonna be doing, doll?” Bucky asks, hating to feel out of the loop.

 

“Oh, you’ll see,” she sings and keeps grinning to herself.

 

“Probably some kind of yoga,” Steve tells him quietly.

 

“No,” Zaara answers brusquely. “Not yoga.” They head for the palace gym and, when they arrive, the men are surprised to see the woman who led T’Challa’s praetorian guard. She is, in fact, his chief lieutenant, bedecked in sleek, no-nonsense workout gear and waiting for Zaara by the punching bags.

 

“Doll,” Bucky says hesitantly. “You never told us you do _this_ kind of workout.”

 

“Nope,” she agrees pleasantly. “I didn’t. You fellas can sit over there. I think there’s some tablets so you won’t get bored.”

 

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” Steve replies numbly. _What the hell are we in for? That dame looks like she packs a wallop._

 

“Gentlemen, this is Lieutenant Ayo,” Zaara introduces them.

 

Ayo’s nod is perfunctory, and the men feel as if they have been instantly evaluated and deemed inadequate. The warrior woman is tall and fierce and her outfit emphasizes the sharp lines of her sheer and brutal physicality. Her muscular, lanky body positively dwarfs Zaara, who seems completely unbothered to stand next to her in her snug-fitting, girlish yoga gear. Zaara does not dress the part of a boxer at all, so Steve finds himself rather curious about what the two of them are up to.

 

Ayo grins knowingly. “Welcome, Ms. Xaviar.”

 

“Ayo,” she nods. “Thank you for having me again.” She laughs to herself, knowing Ayo would much rather take on Steve or Bucky than train her. She really can’t blame her; Ayo is a magnificent warrior and absolutely loves a challenge.

 

“Well then, let us have no further delay.” Ayo cranks up the music and Steve and Bucky immediately wince at the loud, thumping beat. Zaara gives a big smile and joins Ayo in a warm-up routine of jumping jacks, squats, push-ups, and burpees. In less than five minutes, she is dripping with sweat and panting.

 

Bucky is impressed. _You got good form, doll. But your stamina could use some work._

_Maybe my stamina took a hit hanging out with your lazy butt all week,_ she retorts grumpily.

 

He chuckles to himself.

 

“What’s that?” Steve asks loudly, trying to be heard over the music.

 

“Aw, nothin’ punk,” Bucky shouts back, not bothering to appease Steve’s jealousy. He’s too busy watching Ayo leap and swirl around Zaara, for now they are sparring in earnest. Zaara ducks and takes a swing, narrowly missing the agile Ayo. But they’re using their legs as well as their arms, so the workout is more of a kickboxing session, as far as he can tell. He swallows and is abruptly transported back to a strange, unwanted place. A name spurts forth from his mind like a foggy jet of vapor: the Red Room. _That dame I had to fight—I trained her. The redhead who let us get away with the Quinjet. She zapped T’Challa with that stinger on her arm. What was her name?_ He’s never mentioned her to Steve for he only just remembered her now. There’s been too much going on.

 

 _Oh, boy,_ Zaara thinks to herself. It is quite distracting to have the men watch her training session, let alone deal with another flashback from Bucky.

 

_Natalia Alianovna Romanova. That was her name. I trained her. In the Red Room._

_Tasha._

Zaara flinches, knowing Bucky has just had a significant memory. They will have to hash it out later, though, because she loathes interrupting her session with Ayo. Indeed, she'd give anything to have a trainer like Ayo back home. The warrior woman keeps many secrets and the opportunity to train with her is a great privilege. Zaara accepts she will not fully school her in the secret ways of a traditional Wakandan warrior, but that is just fine by her. She has no interest in becoming a warrior. Zaara fights for a different reason.

 

_Hold on, Bucky. Can it wait ‘til my session is done?_

_Sure, doll. I’ll be OK. No worries._

 

Steve chews on his lip, nervous, wholly unable to stop himself from making surreptitious motions, tiny dodges and jabs in response to Ayo’s attack, betraying moves he would use were he in Zaara’s place. Truly, the tall woman is a superb fighter, but Zaara makes a respectable effort. He wonders if she is using telepathy to anticipate Ayo’s attacks, but he can also see that that Ayo stays, for the most part, on the defensive. Some of Zaara’s moves waste energy and he disapproves of that, but he can tell it is the dancer in her. She works so hard to keep perfect form in everything she does. The movements look beautiful, but beauty is wasted in a fight. He’s not sure why she’s doing this since the team would never use her for melee purposes anyways, given her remarkable psionic gifts. _Probably just fitness,_ he figures, though he eyes Bucky jealously, figuring he’s got the jump on him as usual.

 

Bucky simply sits there, watching proudly, having shoved the Red Room from his mind. He’ll face it later, when he’s ready. _Atta girl,_ he tells Zaara every so often. The scrimmage is intense and Zaara doesn’t shut him out so he can read all her work, all the concentration she puts into this fight and the training she draws upon. He actually finds himself somewhat impressed. For a dame who has so little time on her hands, she works extremely hard, takes every individual correction seriously, and always does her best.

 

_You could make a hell of a fighter someday, kitten._

_Thanks, Bucky. But I’m a little busy at the moment._

_Have at it, honey. I ain't had this much fun in a long, long time,_ he smirks, suddenly realizing how much he enjoys watching them. It captivates him, these feminine bodies jumping, rolling, punching and kicking, exchanging blows and narrowly avoiding others. It’s fierce and beautiful, especially with Zaara’s constant emphasis on form. He glances over at Steve and smirks. They rarely have an excuse to stare so hard at women’s bodies, especially ones that are moving in such a raw, sweaty state.

_Glad you’re enjoying this,_  Zaara huffs, ducking to avoid a kick from Ayo.

 

Bucky tries to keep his mind silent after that.

 

Steve can’t really say he enjoys watching this fight, but he does feel curious and surprised at the intensity of the session, the obvious dedication of instructor and pupil. They clearly take their work very seriously. But then again, he is always happy to have an excuse to cast his eyes on Zaara. At least he can’t be called rude for staring this time.

 

When the sparring session is over, Ayo runs Zaara through a more traditional boxing workout, taping up her hands and giving her a petite pair of boxing gloves. Ayo sets the timer and Zaara punches the bag non-stop for a full five minutes as an endurance exercise before taking a turn on the speed bag. Her prowess in this exercise captivates both men, though Zaara becomes frustrated when she does not last as long as she hoped. Ayo laughs and chastises her for being out of practice, and Bucky is drawn back to his training days in Brooklyn. _I could teach you this, doll,_ he muses. _They been training boxers long before my day._

 

 _No thanks, Bucky,_ Zaara replies. _It’ll distract you from my laundry._

 

He snorts.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

“Rogers? Where’s Rogers? I can’t find him anywhere!” Zaara cries desperately and rushes about the suite in a panic, crawling on the floor and peering under the couch, behind the drapes, and in the cupboards.

 

“I’m right here,” Steve calls, running out of his room, his heart pounding. _She needs me. She really needs me._

 

“Not _you_ ,” Zaara groans. “The gorilla.”

 

“Henry’s gorilla. It's named Rogers,” Bucky smirks before adding in a low voice. “Don’t flatter yourself, punk.”

 

The men are still learning about the most important toys, the ones the children can never do without. Problem is, they can never be found in the same place. So when Henry cries for a particular toy, whether shark or dinosaur, heaven help them if they cannot find it. Tonight, he insists on having Rogers with him, and Steve remembers Zaara found him under their bed on the day they moved into the suite.

 

“Lemme check our room,” he says, and soon finds the gorilla right in the very same spot. _Why the hell does that kid like to hide things under my bed?_ He hands it over to Henry, gently admonishing him to take better care of his toys. “We’d better make a list when it’s time to head home,” he adds, staring at Zaara. “Don’t want to leave anything behind.”

 

“We will,” she sighs, adding that to the other ten thousand things she has on her plate.

 

It’s the men’s turn to make dinner tonight since they are already transitioning to the lifestyle they will have at the school. Zaara wants to rid them of their dependency on the staff and get back to her usual family routine. She has no servant to cook dinner at home, but, since the men offered, she could hardly refuse. Spaghetti and meatballs is all they can manage, however, though Steve vows to come up with something better over time. He’s not used to cooking for five, two of whom have supersoldier appetites and two more with finicky palates. It astonished him to learn, given the abundance of food in the 21st century, that children rarely lick their plates clean these days. And Zaara, in his opinion, doesn’t eat enough, either. _She could stand to gain a few pounds._ _Dames are too damn skinny these days,_ he thinks to himself, though he would never dare mention anyone’s body size out loud, being far too polite. Zaara’s curvy and he loves that, but he has secretly always loved the dames in Rubens’ paintings most, and he wonders if it has to do with the way he used to be the skinny one. He makes sure to put a heaping helping of noodles on Zaara’s plate.

 

“Eat up,” he nods in the friendliest way he can.

 

“I’m not sure if I can fit it all in,” her eyes gape in wonder.

 

“Over the lip, under the gums, look out stomach, here it comes,” Bucky chuckles, slapping her on the back. “I like dames who don’t skip meals.”

 

“I don’t skip meals, Bucky,” Ellie immediately pipes up.

 

“You could stand to eat more, too,” he squeezes her cheek.

 

“These kids subsist on snacks,” Zaara rolls her eyes and finally picks up her fork.

 

But the meal goes well even if some spaghetti ends up on the floor. Begrudgingly, Steve and Bucky realize Zaara was right: noodles are messier than macaroni, even though they couldn’t imagine eating meatballs with anything other than spaghetti. All three adults marvel at the smooth day they’ve had and what a real relief it is that, barring anything unforeseen, the Winter Soldier ordeal is over. Tomorrow, they will resume Bucky’s remaining sessions with Zaara’s telepathic team. But they have thoroughly enjoyed having a day off. Silently, Zaara and Bucky have agreed to put off discussions about his Red Room flashback until they get home to America. _As long as it's alright with you, I've got enough on my plate with this spaghetti,_ she tells him and he grins at her.

 

Another night, another helter-skelter bedtime routine, and the three of them are worn out. But Zaara is glad because she feels as if they are finally on the same page when it comes to getting the kids to bed. When it is time to make popcorn, she decides to turn to post-war movies since that seems to be the era the boys are most excited about. “We might as well get caught up together,” she points out. “I’ve never really watched movies in any sort of order before. I love going back to the ‘20s and ‘30s, but we can stay with the ‘40s and ‘50s a while if it helps you get your feet wet.”

 

“Sure thing,” Bucky nods, still agreeing to everything she says and making Zaara check in with Steve, who’s alright with it.

 

“We’ll watch whatever you want,” he tells her, just glad to be with her without the chaos of the children for a while. He’s not sure whether this will end up being a “special needs night,” as Zaara likes to call them, so he tries to be ready for anything, though he cannot quell his longing to spend another night by her side.

 

“But nothing too violent,” Zaara says firmly, her mind elsewhere. “Neither of you need that. I won’t force us to stick to comedies, but maybe a romance might do you some good?”

 

"What are you proposing, Ms. Xaviar?” Steve teases with a spot-on imitation of T’Challa.

 

“Hmmm . . .” she chuckles, scanning through the classic movie catalogue. “How about this one . . . _Heaven Knows, Mr. Allison_? It’s about a marine and a nun trapped together on a tropical island during the war.”

 

Bucky raises his eyebrows, but Steve agrees jovially. “It's a romance?”

 

“Well, I think so. I remember skimming through the novel at my grandmother’s house when I was a kid, but I never saw the movie. What the heck?” she smiles, and they join her on the couch, Bucky carrying the popcorn in his arm. But the showing gets delayed since, to their dismay, Henry gets up out of bed and insists he is _not_ tired. He also informs them that sleeping is boring. After an exasperating half hour of trying to get him to back into bed, the trio are finally free to take their seats, though the popcorn is no longer so warm.

 

They sit in silence for most of the film, Zaara’s hand grasping Bucky’s knee or forearm every so often, exquisitely attuned to each emotion as it flows through him. There’s nothing too graphic or shocking in the picture, however, and she feels rather grateful the action happens in the Pacific theatre since neither of them fought there. It does make Bucky’s mind wander, however, to the experience of war, but it is an experience he must come to terms with one way or another, and a romantic film is as gentle a way to accomplish that as any.  _At least it doesn’t dredge up any Winter Soldier stuff_ , she notes with some relief.

 

The alluring premise of a nun and a marine trapped together on a deserted island during wartime is really too much to resist. Steve cannot help but imagine what it would be like if he were the soldier and Zaara the nun. He knows he’d have done the very same things Allison did, risk his life to protect and care for her, find them food and shelter, hide her away from the Japanese soldiers. When the handsome Mr. Allison makes his heartfelt proposal of marriage to the young, novitiate nun, Steve  is all for it.

 

“ _Ma’am, I just got to tell you. Please don’t do it. Please don’t take those final vows. I never loved anybody before, never lived before. I want to marry you, look after you . . . I couldn’t keep from saying it, ma’am. Tell me if there’s a chance . . . Is there?”_

 

With a huge gasp, Zaara clutches both hands to her heart and practically screams.   _“_ OH. MY. GOD!!!!”

 

Allison’s proposal, so humble and sincere, shocks her. It shakes her. An expression of such yearning and tenderness, and Zaara simply cannot handle it. The way Mr. Allison wholeheartedly longs to take care of Sister Angela for the rest of their lives demolishes Zaara completely and she is swept away by the sheer romance of it all.

 

Bucky and Steve find themselves staring at her now, her emotions betraying her entirely. Less surprised by the plot twist than by Zaara’s unguarded reaction to it, they meet each other’s eyes. It does something to them both to see her come so undone. Bucky wraps his arm around her, almost worried for her. “Now what’s that all about, doll?” he chuckles, giving her a little squeeze.

 

Steve just stares, jaw hanging, awaiting her answer.

 

“Oh,” she heaves, still trying to catch her breath since Allison’s proposal actually brought tears to her eyes. She cannot get a hold of herself. “He . . . he just sounds so sincere. That’s all.” She tries to swallow her feelings and can’t. She simply marvels at the honest and genuine way a man would speak to a woman in days long past. Though she knows it is only fiction and just a movie, there is something so inexpressibly touching about it. “I, I just didn’t see it coming. I guess.”

 

“Didn’t see it coming?” Bucky snorts.

 

Steve is taken aback. “ _Of course_ he’d ask her to marry him. What did you expect?”

 

“I don’t know,” she murmurs, embarrassed, and lowers her chin down to her chest modestly. She vows to stay quiet for the rest of the film.

 

Later, when they are about to go to bed, Bucky follows her to her room. Steve wisely leaves the two of them alone and goes off to brush his teeth, sensing there’s something they need to discuss given what she said to him last night. Zaara’s yawning and tired but she decides to let Bucky say his peace.

 

“Look, doll,” he stops her just as she reaches her door. Resting his hand upon her shoulder, he turns her to face him, and his heavy weight roots her to the spot. All she can do is look into his eyes. “You, well, I guess you already know what I’m thinking.”

 

“Say it,” she says softly, fighting the urge to bolt. “You can’t control your thoughts. But you can choose your words.”

 

“Alright, then,” he thinks to himself, keeping his hand on her shoulder and squeezing her firmly. “I know what you’ve told us about, about you not dating anybody.”

 

“Yes,” she says quietly and trembles. “Go on.”

 

“Well, I know I don’t know everything about you,” he confesses. “And I got no right— _no right_ to tell you what to do, see? But I gotta say this ‘cause I’m your friend, and even if that’s all we can be to each other (and that’s more than enough, doll, ‘cause you know how much I care about you), I gotta say—what Sister Angela did, the life she chose—I think it was a waste.”

 

“ _Bucky_!” Zaara cries, aghast. She feels a chill in her heart. Bucky’s words strike too close to home. “How can you say that? Nuns live lives of service. They help lots of people.”

 

“Naw, no,” he shakes his head. “That ain’t it. That’s not what I mean. Really. I’m just thinkin’ out loud, is all.”

 

“It’s okay,” she grasps his wrist while his hand still rests upon her shoulder. She steels herself because Bucky has so rarely expressed an opinion about anything since she’s met him. She knows he feels it’s important, and that’s what counts. “Say what you need to say. Please. I’m asking you to, I _want_ to hear it.” She notices Steve hovering in the background discreetly, listening.

 

“It’s just, Sister Angela doesn’t need to give up love to do God’s work,” he fumbles, and the words fall awkwardly from his mouth. He is unused to talking about these sorts of things, especially to a dame. His face contorts in concentration. For a master tactician capable of planning and executing highly technical missions, he finds it terribly puzzling to sort through these sentiments, to link his strength of mind with his heart. He sighs. “Look, if God made her beautiful and kind, if God made Mr. Allison love her, then who is she to say no to havin’ that love in her life? She can still do good things, live a good life, if she marries him. And she’s throwing it all away to go serve some idea, some _thing_ that might not ever love her back. She’s throwing away something God gave her in the first place. And that’s a mistake.”

 

Zaara’s jaw drops, astonished. She struggles to get a hold of herself and forces her mouth shut quite deliberately, only able to nod at him in silence. Deeply moved by his words, she suddenly realizes why Allison’s proposal didn’t affect Bucky the way it affected her. _That proposal made sense to Bucky, and probably to Steve, too. That must be exactly how they would have done it, how they would have treated Sister Angela. They feel it’s right to look after others, to take care of the ones they love._ _To love, to commit, and to be vulnerable doing it._

 

Indeed, Bucky cannot get over Zaara’s response to Allison’s proposal either, for he’s finally discovered something deep and essential about her, something that exists apart from her love for her children. Some part of _her_ that is hers alone and no one else’s and it has to do with her fear and longing for love—the love between a woman and a man. Bucky simply cannot fathom Zaara’s surprise at Allison wanting to marry Sister Angela. Bucky would have felt just the same way, done the very same things as the marine. _Semper fi,_ after all _._ It’s how he sees the world and now he knows it to be utterly different from the way she sees it. He gives her a smug smile.

 

_Just because you don’t think you’re allowed to have love in your life doesn’t mean you don’t want it, doll. I see that now._

 

Zaara tries not to cry, but Steve spots a tear sliding down her cheek. _She’s letting Bucky see it, all of it._ He backs away.

 

Later, when both of them are in bed, Steve turns to his best friend.

 

“Buck,” he muses. “That sure was, uh, bold of you.”

 

“Bold?” Bucky laughs bitterly, his expression grim. “After all the Hydra bases we stormed, all the battles we fought, all I been through with the Winter Soldier, you call that bold, what I said to her tonight?”

 

“Well,” Steve slowly forms his thoughts out loud. “You haven’t been out in the world much during the last few years, like I have. She’s right about Allison. Men don’t put themselves on the line the way he did. Not anymore. Lots of them cheat, they’re afraid to commit, afraid of real love. They’re selfish, unfaithful, demanding. They feel entitled. Some want more than one woman at a time and they want it all. It ain’t the same world we grew up in.”

 

“Men weren’t perfect back in our day, either,” Bucky points out.

 

“Nah,” Steve agrees. “They weren’t. But most of ‘em were different. When most of ‘em got married, they sure as hell meant it. I know _you’d_ never do any of those things to a dame.”

 

“Ain’t never had a dame to do ‘em to,” Bucky counters. “At least, not one I loved enough. But, you’re right. When you got someone like that to love, someone beautiful and honest like Sister Angela, you don’t think about those things. All you think about is . . . loving her. Taking care of her.”

 

Steve nods. “Yeah, but dames today—they’re not used to men speaking so frank to them, Buck. At least not that I can tell. You saw how she reacted.”

 

“I sure as hell did,” Bucky agrees. “Still, why don’t she date anyone? She’s a peach, she’s a great mother to those kids. They’re crazy about her. It’s such a waste.”

 

“Dunno,” Steve yawns as if he hasn’t given it much thought. “Maybe it’s the kids?”

 

“That ain't it,” Bucky frowns. “It’s gotta be something to do with her powers.”

 

“Why?” Steve asks, trying not to sound too eager. “Did she show you something?”

 

“Nah,” Bucky shakes his head in the dark. “She’s upped her privacy settings. I can’t read much from her. Not anymore. Except the way she felt when Allison proposed to Sister Angela.”

 

“And what was that?” Steve asks, dreamily.

 

Bucky smirks at him. “Wouldn’t you like to know, punk.”

 

Steve only gazes at him, hurt, with puppy-dog eyes.

 

Bucky immediately feels guilty. “Longing,” he admits quietly. “Real, honest-to-God longing.”

 

Steve’s heart flutters and he gulps with excitement. But he quickly shakes it off. “Well, maybe you should ask her out then,” he nudges Bucky in the ribs, trying to keep things light.

 

“Are you nuts?” Bucky retorts. “I can’t do that. I’m tethered to her, she knows everything damn thought in my head. _You’re_ the one who should ask her out.”

 

"What?” It is Steve’s turn to act incredulous. “You’re playing with fire, Buck. Look, let’s not blow it. She warned me about this. We gotta keep things the way they are. She’s helping you. No one else can do what she does. We all work together, keep going on your healing. Help her with the housework, with the kids. But if anything else is gonna happen, it has to come from _her_.”

 

Bucky elbows Steve back. “What do you mean by _anything_ , punk?”

 

“Nothin,’” Steve answers gruffly. “Go to bed.”

 

“I am in bed, knucklehead,” Bucky cackles and kicks him lightly in the shins.

 

“Then go to sleep!” Steve hisses, having had enough.

 

“Alright,” Bucky agrees, grateful that he feels well enough not to have to impose on Zaara’s bed this time. _Two nights in a row, I’m on a real streak._ It is remarkable, after all. “G’night.”

 

“’Night, Buck,” Steve settles down, trying not to think of the look on Zaara’s face when she screamed with joy at Allison’s proposal, the eager light that shone in her eyes, the joyful beam of surprise on her face. _That girl wants love_ , he tells himself. _She’s fighting it, trying to stay alone. And I’m gonna find out why._

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Puttin' on the Ritz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, a change of pace. This little plot bunny has been in my mind for quite a long time. I've tried very hard to get it right and I really hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Bonus points to anyone who can draw or do some fabulous photo-shopping of Steve and Bucky's outfits. I am dying to see what they look like ;-)))
> 
> Hmm, maybe we should have a contest to decide who wears it best, lol ;-)

 

 

_Now if you’re blue_

_And you don’t know where to go to_

_Why don’t you go where fashion sits,_

_Puttin’ on the Ritz._

_Different types who wear a day coat_

_Pants with stripes and cutaway coat_

_Perfect fits._

_Puttin’ on the Ritz._

_Dressed up like a million dollar trooper_

_Trying hard to look like Gary Cooper,_

_Super duper._

_Come, let’s mix where Rockefellers_

_Walk with sticks or umbrellas_

_In their mitts,_

_Puttin’ on the Ritz._

 

 

 

 

 

 

The seamstress arrives with little time left before the State Dinner and it is none too soon to make the final adjustments on Steve and Bucky’s galabeyas. The samples are with her and both men have no choice but to strip down to their skivvies and then some. To their chagrin, the concise fit permits no undergarments. Both feel quite dismayed by it.

 

 _Unless,_ Steve muses. _Unless we wear, what are they called? Thongs. Or maybe jockstraps. Ugh, I don’t wanna imagine that._ He doubts Bucky has the slightest idea what’s happened to men’s undergarments in this century and he can barely tolerate the thought himself. He dutifully assists Bucky as he desperately attempts to shimmy the viciously tight waistline up over his bare buttocks.

 

When they finally manage to pull the garment on his body, they stare at his image in the full-length mirror, jaws dropping. The royal tunic boasts a wide, provocative collar stretching shoulder to shoulder. It presents an impressive swath of Bucky’s muscular chest and abdomen before it plunges all the way down like an inverted triangle, its bottom tip dipping nearly an inch below his naval to tease a hint of the dark thatch of hair hidden below. Steve has never seen anything like it, not on the streets of Birnin Zana or anywhere else. He has been told these galabeyas are traditional and extremely prestigious, though the colour schemes do not boast typical Wakandan hues and the cut is mercilessly precise and painfully form-fitting.

 

“What the hell have we gotten ourselves into, Steve?” Bucky groans.

 

The galabeya drapes all the way down to the floor and opens so wide at the throat it has to be held in place by a chain reminiscent of some sort of ancient Egyptian choker. Indeed, the palace is lending both men heavy necklaces of solid gold with broad, flat geometric pieces similar to what King Tut might have worn. The tunic actually attaches to the chains, the long V-neck spreading broadly over his bare chest before it descends to the narrow and dramatic closure that composes the ruthless waistline. The bottom point of the triangle comes to a tip just below Bucky’s naval so that Steve finds it slightly obscene, and his eyes flutter modestly away from the devastating lines of his best friend’s virile musculature. The cut for the bottom half of the garment rests snugly over his buttocks (which is why he feels forced to go commando) until it gives way to a wide A-line skirt that falls all the way to the floor and conceals his toes. A pair of hand-made leather sandals completes the look. Steve tries not to chuckle. Bucky certainly wears it well, but Steve will never be able to forget the expression on his face, like he is witnessing the mother of all snafus.

 

Zaara knocks on their door. “Can I see, guys? Don’t keep us waiting!”

 

The children hoot and holler after her, but Steve only shrugs before calling back: “I’m not ready yet. Give us another minute. Come on, punk. Your turn to help.” And Bucky holds the tunic open while Steve shimmies into his own form-fitting galabeya, the hips cut every bit as tight as Bucky’s. Even though Steve’s waist is narrower, he has just as much difficulty yanking the garment up and over his hips. The custom-made clothing shows him no mercy. Bucky actually has to dig his knuckles into Steve’s haunches in an attempt to hike the fabric up over his buttocks without tearing it.

 

“Ungh,” Bucky groans, fumbling. “If I pull any harder, it might rip. Imagine how dames used to squeeze into tight dresses all the time.”

 

“I try not to,” Steve admits. “That would take all the fun out of it.”

 

“Can’t you, ungh,” Bucky pants, struggling. “Suck in your ass or something?”

 

“No, I _cannot_ suck in my ass,” Steve snaps back, choking on his laughter since, even though it _is_ funny, he still finds it terribly frustrating.

 

“Ungh,” Bucky gives another heave and the fabric finally gives way to Steve’s tiny waistline. “How in the hell do we get you out of this thing?”

 

“Same way you got me in?” Steve shrugs, slipping his arms through the holes. The golden clasp fits neatly around his neck and now his chest is also on display for the fabric opens all the way down his waist and ends just past his naval like Bucky’s, giving a hint of his own thatch of hair in that region. His sinewy arms hang, completely bare. “No boxers for us, I guess.”

 

“Guess not,” Bucky admits, eying the snug fit over Steve’s buttocks. As far as he knows, their only choice is to go commando. _Unless everyone wants to see the creases in my underpants._ “You ready, pal?”

 

“I was born ready,” Steve replies unconvincingly, and they open the door.

 

Zaara restrains the children as they struggle to leap at them, scared they might damage the beautiful fabric. Her eyes just about pop out of her head. She never dreamt she’d see Steve and Bucky in floor-length tunics. _Man-dresses_ , she hears Bucky call them in his mind, though she’s seen plenty of men in galabayas all over Wakanda and in other parts of the world. Still, these are royal galabayas and, she must admit, the old lady’s measurements are simply superb. The incredible shape of them, every muscle, bone, and sinew in their upper bodies is displayed in breathtaking glory, their brawny arms left bare while their legs remain artfully hidden beneath a magical fabric that seems to float over their bottom halves like a canopy. The effect is stunning and a sight to behold. Somehow, the generous material billowing like a full-length skirt creates an intensely masculine effect.

 

Zaara can’t imagine what she might end up wearing next to them and does not care, for her eyes shine as if she has been given a divine box of exotic dark chocolates. Oh, how she would love to savor a bite. Before she can stop herself, she indulges her longing and allows herself to imagine planting a feathery kiss on the slit just below Steve’s naval, her tongue tickling the tiny hairs on that sensitive spot before she runs it all the way up his magnificent chest, tasting his skin and savoring what might be its sweet and salty cinnamon flavor in her mouth. Before she knows it, her eyes wander to Bucky’s darker hues, the fine, black hairs contrasting with the alabaster skin on his chest, and she wonders if he would taste just the same as Steve, or if their flavors would complement one another. She gazes at them, dumbfound. _God, they’re so incredible. I could just eat them up._ Unbridled desire washes over her.

 

Bucky cocks an eyebrow and quickly glances away. _I’m gonna pretend I didn’t read that, sweetheart._

She immediately stiffens. _Oh, God. I’m so, so sorry. You weren’t supposed to see that, Bucky. Oops._ Zaara slaps her hand over her mouth in embarrassment, an involuntary reaction to a harsh wake-up call.

Bucky smiles. _Nothing to be embarrassed about, doll. It’s alright. Glad somebody enjoys these man-dresses because I sure as hell don’t._ “You don’t wanna know how hard it was to shimmy this jerk’s butt into that dress,” he cackles out loud, smoothly disregarding her most inappropriate yearnings, and thereby gallantly allowing her to save face. He’s not sure how he manages to do it, but he’s glad he can. She needs him to and he knows it.

 

Steve blushes as if he senses her feelings, too. “It wasn’t so easy getting that thing on you, either, pal.”

 

“Bucky, you’re wearing a dress like my dolly’s!” Ellie laughs. She runs back to her room to fetch a Wakandan doll which does indeed wear a dress to match Bucky’s—same shape, same color scheme.

 

“Well, I’ll be darned, sweetheart,” Bucky muses when she returns, turning the doll over in his hands. “Hey, this ain’t some sorta voodoo doll, is it?”

 

“What’s a voodoo doll?” Ellie asks, innocently.

 

“Aw, never mind,” Bucky tickles her chin.

 

“You sure these are traditional?” Steve asks bitterly. Though he is distracted by the awkwardness of the revealing robe, he can sense something’s up with Zaara. It’s the way she keeps trying to avert her gaze to avoid looking at him. If he didn’t know better, he’d guess she feels embarrassed, but there’s something in her expression he’s seen before. _It was at the lagoon,_ he realizes. _She looked at me that way then, just after she shoved my head under the water and we laughed._ He knows there’s a spark between them and he immediately lowers his gaze, looking her way without staring too hard, seeking to make a subtle connection in the midst of his embarrassment, the cries of the children, and the clucking of the seamstress.

 

“Yes,” Zaara laughs, still trying to conceal her feelings. “Very.”

 

Mrs. Bahati begins a swift examination of the fabric’s length and fit. She resolves to shorten Bucky’s tunic just a hair, though she deems Steve’s positively perfect.

 

“Can’t wait to see what get-up _you’ll_ be wearing, doll,” Bucky muses somewhat bitterly as Mrs. Bahati pushes him back up onto the ottoman. “Wonder if it’ll cut all the way down to _your_ bellybutton?”

 

 _“_ It better cover more of my chest than _those_ things,” Zaara raises her eyebrows and blushes wildly.

 

Steve almost chokes, imagining Zaara’s bare body half-revealed in a tunic like his own and thanks heaven for the umpteenth time she can’t read his mind, not realizing she does receive images and feelings from him on occasion, almost always sexual in nature. Sometimes she can sense his fear or worry, too, as she did when Bucky came out of cryo, or when they spoke to the Winter Soldier. But in this moment, she sees herself the way he sees her; his yearning, and his reverence for her body. She melts, her hands clutching her lower waist as if they could quell the exquisite ache that floods her there. “Well, then,” she says huskily. “Hopefully everything will be set. But don’t eat too much at the dinner or you boys’ll bust out of those man-dresses. Can you even sit down in them?”

 

Bucky, to his credit, makes an attempt even with the pins still sticking in the hemline. “Yeah. Sorta. Gotta keep real good posture, though.” Ellie crawls onto his lap, making Mrs. Bahati frown, but Bucky doesn’t mind at all. He strokes her hair and enjoys the closeness, remembering Zaara’s prescription: _Ellie love is powerful medicine._

 

Zaara giggles, but cringes when Henry come running. The boy leaps right on top both of them. The seamstress scolds them and the children quickly back away. “What about _my_ dress?” Zaara finds herself asking. She can’t help it—she has not seen anything in Mrs. Bahati’s mind while she was working on the men’s outfits. Though she tries not to make a habit of reading people’s minds (the Professor always considered it an invasion of privacy), she cannot help her own curiosity and often receives readings entirely by accident.

 

The elderly woman grunts and shakes her head, informing her that T’Challa is overseeing the dress himself.

 

“The King?” Zaara says in wonder. She saw nothing in T’Challa’s mind about it earlier and she never thought to ask. She realizes the seamstress is bitter because he engaged a different dressmaker for the job. Mrs. Bahati is uncertain as to why she was not consulted; all she heard was that it involves an unusual material over which she has no knowledge. It seems plenty strange given that the woman is old enough to be a great-grandmother and has decades of experience.

 

Zaara is puzzled, but she shrugs it off and resumes playtime.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Later, when the children have finally gone to bed, Bucky and Steve sit side by side on the dark brocade sofa, watching her. Bucky seems calm, but Zaara is curious. “Penny for your thoughts?” she finally asks, waiting for the popcorn to begin its telltale sounds before she rushes back to the kitchen.

 

Neither of them say a word. Steve averts his eyes sheepishly, worried that he’d been caught staring. Bucky shrugs, silent, and simply waits.

 

“I guess my dress will come sooner or later,” she muses, as if to herself. “Then it’ll be your turn to poke fun at me.”

 

“What do you think it’ll look like?” Steve finally asks, knowing nothing of Wakandan formal wear for women.

 

“As if I’d know,” she snorts. “Wakandan evening gowns are hardly my area of expertise. Some sort of robe like yours, I suppose.”

 

“You’re the guest of honour,” Bucky interjects, following the feelings she has been giving him all day. They’ve been spilling into him, though Zaara hasn’t noticed. “Might be something really special.”

 

“I wonder why Mrs. Bahati isn’t making it?” Zaara muses out loud. “Why would T’Challa have anything to do with a dress? He’s not exactly a fashion plate.”

 

“Maybe he’s just trying to honour his father’s memory,” Steve offers earnestly. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

 

“You’re right,” she agrees. “We only have two more days, but we’ve got bigger fish to fry. Once we get through this dinner, we can really tighten up our plans for the prison break.”

 

“And have you figured out what you’re gonna wear to that engagement?” Bucky smirks. “I hear it’s gonna be quite the fashionable affair.”

 

Zaara laughs. “Well, the Blackbird has some X-men uniforms in storage. We can check them out tomorrow.”

 

“Have they got anything in my size?” Steve asks with a twinkle in his eye.

 

“Ooh, we can all be matching!” Zaara exclaims. “Between Pete and Bobby, well, one’s a lot bigger then you and the other’s kind of smaller. And we might have one of Logan’s old uniforms left in storage. Could be just your size. You should be covered—as long as you don’t mind dressing like an X-man.”

 

“Swell,” he grins. “But you never did tell us about the X-men.”

 

“Oh,” she is taken aback, realizing he’s right. “Okay. Let me call Storm and, as long as she’s alright with it, I’ll give you the scoop. Maybe we can talk to her on the Blackbird.”

 

“The X-men?” mumbles Bucky. “Do they wear man-dresses, too?”

 

“Not really,” she admits, her face falling grim. “The X-men are pretty much only women, now. We lost most of our men in the Phoenix incident.”

 

Steve swallows, wondering if the children’s father was among them. But he’ll have to wait to find out. He won’t press her on it since the topic is clearly painful for her. “So, uh, Bucky and I were impressed with your . . . session the other day.”

 

“Oh, you mean my workout with Ayo?” Zaara replies, amused, and wondering what he’s getting at.

 

“Stevie here thinks you’re pretty good,” Bucky teases. Steve blushes.

 

“Does he?” Zaara smiles and raises her eyebrows. “Why, thank you, Captain.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Steve nods, looking away. “We, uh, we were just wondering why you’re learning to fight. I mean, you being a ballerina and all.”

 

“Oh, you’re wondering, are you?” Zaara chuckles. “Well, maybe I’m training so I’ll be able to kick _your_ asses. One ought to have goals, after all.”

 

“Kick _our_ asses?” Bucky cackles. “Darling, you don’t need to _fight_ us to do that. Just tell me what you want and I’ll surrender. I’ll do anything you say.” He throws himself at her feet, raising his hands in submission and giving her a huge smirk. “ _Uncle_.”

 

“Oh, stop,” Zaara rolls her eyes, giggling uncomfortably. “You’re really talking about my powers, aren’t you?” she adds, a tad bitter. “Well, it’s only a human body. There’s no reason not to take care of it.”

 

“Those were some pretty dangerous moves,” Steve interjects, ignoring Bucky’s playful banter. “You don’t need to exercise that hard to take care of your body. One slip and you could end up with a real injury.”

 

“It’s the same with ballet,” she replies smoothly, narrowing her eyes. _He’s really quite a bossypants, isn’t he?_ “I think you two are bothered that someone else is teaching me to fight.”

 

Bucky sighs sheepishly and pulls himself up off the floor, resigned. “You found us out, doll. Steve thinks you waste a lot of energy, keepin’ up your perfect form and all.”

 

Steve elbows him in the ribs, unimpressed by the betrayal.

 

“Oh, guys,” Zaara sighs and shakes her head. “First of all—form is everything. It’s how we prevent injuries. Second of all, I’m not _really_ fighting. Did you ever stop and think that maybe I just like to hit things? That’s what it’s about. The self-defense could always come in handy, of course. You never know.”

 

“How long you been boxing?” Bucky asks, not at all troubled by asking her questions the way Steve seems to be.

 

“Since Henry was a few months old. It was uh, a very frustrating time in my life so I started boxing once a week. It’s hard, though. It’s really the sort of training you need to do most every day, and I can’t. Not unless I give up ballet. So, I do what I can,” Zaara is surprised to have offered up so much information. But the way they gaze at her, so hungry for anything she might share, makes her want to spill her guts. Indeed, it almost feels as if they are, somehow, _her_ boys. There’s no reason to keep this stuff secret, though part of her does relish having something all to herself for some reason, even if she can’t explain why.

 

“It’s alright, doll,” Bucky smiles, rubbing her shoulders. “When we get back to the States, well, we could teach you. If you like.”

 

“Thanks, Bucky,” she smiles shyly. “I’ll let you know.”

 

“You do that, doll,” Bucky grins fully now, tickled by the thought of training Zaara. He can sense she loves the traditional boxing most. And he’s an expert in it, after all, even if he’s out of date. Besides, Steve could always help them catch up.

 

Steve holds back his grin, jealous and excited. The prospect of spending more time with Zaara is always enticing, but he will still have to share her with Bucky. _Might be a good thing, too,_ he realizes, since he finds her cute yoga outfits rather distracting. “Why don’t we have some popcorn?” he suggests, trying to shift gears.

 

Tonight, they watch _Gentlemen Prefer Blondes_ , following Zaara’s plan to stick with post-war movies of a lighter nature. Of course Bucky and Steve adore Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell, and chuckle knowingly when the men joke that _those girls can’t drown._

 

Zaara shakes her head disapprovingly. “Even _I_ know what they mean by that, boys.”

 

Steve has the good grace to blush, but Bucky only gives her a naughty wink. “Nothing to be ashamed of, doll. It’s just using what God gave them.”

 

Zaara gives him a good shove and he loves it. Steve sighs with envy.

 

Once the movie is over, the men spend the night in their own room again. Though Steve longs to sleep by her side, he can’t help but feel grateful that Bucky’s heart seems light.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Days pass and Zaara is beyond frustrated. A messenger finally brings notice that the dress will be ready shortly, even though they have only one night left before the State Dinner. She has an appointment to train with the lieutenant, a session with Bucky and the girls, and a test run on the Blackbird. They talk to Storm, Ms. Ororo Munroe, on the screen and Steve can’t help but wonder if she could give Thor a run for his money in the lightening department. Bucky marvels at her otherworldly beauty and wonders what it will be like to live in a huge mansion, the only men surrounded by beautiful women and children. They have a lot to think about once Zaara finally tells them all about the X-men, and there is very little time for her to worry about a dress though Steve still detects her anxiety. It peeks out from behind her carefully constructed exterior every so often. Indeed, each and every time her thoughts wander to the dress, Bucky flinches. The men exchange glances all day long and their concern for her only grows.

 

When morning comes, there is still no sign of the dress. Even Steve can read her worry; it is painfully apparent in the way she paces across the room, how she seems absent and distracted when the children come to play. He feels bad because he has heard her call her own feelings ridiculous more than once, saying it’s only a silly dress, after all. _But it’s also a State Dinner and she’s the guest of honour. Of course she ought to be worried. I just wish there was something I could do about it._

 

Bucky meets Steve’s eyes and betrays his own state of panic. He absolutely hates when Zaara is upset about anything, even something as insignificant as the laundry. It makes him realize how like a spoiled brat he is now, and how used he has gotten to feeling hunky dory, as if life is a good thing and he is safe and secure. To his chagrin, he is forced to admit that his nearly constant good mood is due to Zaara and her gifts. Now that she feels distressed, there is absolutely nothing he can do about it. Her emotions flow through his own body—fear, worry, anxiety—and he’s not sure what the hell to do about it. _I ain’t no dressmaker and she won’t let me find the tailor and threaten to strangle him so I’m stuck. Women and their problems—I swear it’s easier to storm a beach in wartime than to sort through this mess._ It makes him miserable, which, in turn, only makes Zaara feel worse.

 

The kids provide a distraction, for a bit. The men feed them an early dinner and play with them while Zaara continues to pace. She goes to her room but leaves the door ajar so the men follow her, watching as she tears through suitcases and drawers, searching desperately to find something that might be even remotely appropriate to wear to a State Dinner. Of course she did not pack a single dress of any kind. She doesn’t own any.

 

“Mama,” Ellie asks plaintively while her mother still searches. “How come you never wear dresses?” Ellie, who wears a dress just about every single day of her life, is fond of red, pink, and floral patterns. Zaara, however, loves her most in blue.

 

“Maybe because I have to crawl around the floor chasing you kids all the time,” Zaara finds herself snapping back.

 

Bucky clutches Ellie to him protectively, raising his eyebrows at Zaara while the girl frowns in dismay.

 

Zaara gasps. “I’m so sorry, honey. Mama’s just frustrated over this dress. It’s useless,” she finally wails, feeling awful to have dismissed her own daughter. “Maybe I should ask Zetha if I can borrow something. She’s so damn petite, I don’t think I could fit her size.”

 

“I’m sure it’ll get here in time,” Steve’s voice steadies her. “You’d look beautiful in any old dress, anyways.”

 

She sighs with impatience and narrows her eyes at him. “Only a man would say something like that, Steve.”

 

“Can’t help it,” he grins broadly, quite pleased with himself for grabbing her attention at a time like this, even though he is in the middle of giving Henry a piggyback ride. “God made me a man.” He’d call her beautiful all the time if she’d pay him any mind since, after the fitting for their galabeyas, it feels as if she’s gone out of her way to ignore him. At the very least, it feels like she is trying to minimize her contact with him.

 

“Why don’t you two go and get dressed,” she rolls her eyes. “At least _someone_ will be ready for the State Dinner.”

 

“Sure thing, doll,” Bucky nods, glad to follow orders. At least that’s one thing he can do for her. They go to their room and re-enact the same struggle as last time, shimmying on their tight galabeyas while Zetha, thankfully, takes the children to play outside in the courtyard so the fancy clothes will be safe from any attacks. They will kiss them goodnight when it is time to go. Just as Steve finally manages to hike his galabeya up over his hips, they hear a knock at the door. When they answer it, they meet a disgruntled Mrs. Bahati who seems to be in a particularly rotten mood. She mutters something in Wakandan.

 

“Come right in,” Bucky does his best Groucho Marx imitation, which is utterly wasted on her. He directs her towards Zaara’s door.

 

“Oh, thank God!” Zaara shouts and ushers her straight into her room, closing the door behind them.

 

Bucky starts pacing as traces of Zaara’s anxiety spill over into his mind. She’s getting very sloppy at locking him out.

 

“What is it?” Steve asks abruptly, noticing the look on his face. He’s constantly on the alert for anything between the two of them, still jealous of their connection but more worried than anything else. Though he knows it’s only a dress, the amount of stress it has caused her perplexes him. _I guess dresses really are a big deal for dames. Live and learn._

 

Bucky shrugs. “She’s just worried about the fit.” Suddenly, he does a double-take and Steve grabs hold of him, fearing he might fall down. Bucky’s jaw drops and he gasps for air. “Hoo, boy, Stevie. We got a problem.”

 

 _BUCKY!_ Zaara calls in her mind.

 

In a flash, he flies to her room, Steve right behind him, their ears picking up the squawks and clicks of an angry Wakandan tongue. Bucky flings open the door and Steve rushes in first.

 

“Oh!” Zaara jumps, covering her breasts with her arms. But she is not nude. A silvery slip of a gown, more sparkles than fabric, floats upon her body. Light, ethereal, and translucent, the garment hardly seems to be there at all. The men’s eyes gape and Mrs. Bahati steps aside, still clucking and huffing, beyond furious. Zaara finds herself standing there awkwardly, trapped in the maelstrom of the seamstress’s rage, Steve and Bucky’s stares, and the burden of her own misery with only an hour to go before a State Dinner that will be held in her honour.

 

“Well,” she whispers in horror, dropping her arms down to her sides with great reluctance. “This is the dress.”

 

The men swallow dramatically, as if they have drunk from an unholy brew of shock, dread, and desire.

 

The elderly woman clucks in profound disapproval.

 

“It’s, uh, pure vibranium,” Zaara’s voice goes hoarse and her knees start to wobble. “Worth about a billion dollars.”

 

Steve nods, stunned, and a new layer of understanding washes over him.

 

Bucky furrows his brow. Between the sheer beauty of Zaara’s body, the explicit design of the dress, and the idea of a billion dollars, he is utterly lost.

 

“Vibranium’s what my shield’s made of,” Steve explains quietly, unable to tear his eyes away from Zaara. She’s so beautiful, her body barely concealed by the tiny slip of a dress. It feels as if he can see more of her body than when she was in her swimsuit, for the creamy tones of her skin actually glow through what must be the most delicate chainmail imaginable. Zaara looks sublimely lovely, but the effect is more like a glittering nude painting than anything that ought to be seen in public. The expression on her face says it all—she feels exposed, humiliated, and vulnerable. He finds himself longing to take her in his arms and do several different things at once: hold her, comfort her, dance with her, draw a portrait of her, make love to her—all at the same time.

 

“Sweetheart,” Bucky croons, sensing her need for his support. Suddenly, he feels better. He knows just what to do. “Come here.” And with no further delay he pulls her body into his own, wrapping his arms around her so she can lean into his shoulder and cry. “Just breathe. It’s gonna be okay. You look beautiful—more beautiful than a billion bucks.”

 

“I want to die,” she whispers between sobs, unable to decide whether she feels more angry or embarrassed. “T’Challa did this. It’s all his fault. First, I am going to die and then I am going to kill him.”

 

“Whatever you say, toots,” Bucky murmurs with a grin, enjoying their embrace just a little too much. But it doesn’t matter. He’s on her side.

 

“Bucky’s right. You look stunning, but it _is_ , uh, a little revealing,” Steve acknowledges her feelings with the utmost sensitivity. He desperately wants to help her feel better, but he won’t lie to her. She does look gorgeous, even though he could hardly call this bit of fabric even half a dress. Zaara’s back is bare right down to her buttocks and she is not entirely covered even there, the fabric is so incredibly thin. _And delicate,_ he thinks, though he knows it is the strongest metal on earth. A dainty whisper of a chain wraps snugly around her throat like a choker and drapes a loose swath of vibranium mesh over her breasts, which are left mostly uncovered on the sides. It seems to be a combination of both traditional and modern Wakandan style, something like the lengthy tunics he’s seen women wearing in the streets, but with considerably less material.

 

Mrs. Bahati lets loose a long string of expletives; Steve has no doubt about it and Bucky can read it from his link to Zaara.

 

“She’s angry about the design. They refused to consult her,” Zaara sniffles, still burying her face in Bucky’s shoulder while he squeezes her even tighter. It feels good to be the one comforting her for a change. _I got you, doll. We’ll get you through this. I promise you._

 

Zaara barely nods. “She thinks it’s a disgrace. T’Challa did it on purpose. He insisted on pure vibranium and not one jot of anything else. This was the exact allotment T’Chaka specified for me in his will—no more, no less.”

 

The seamstress frowns even harder.

 

“Well,” Zaara bites her lip, reluctantly letting go of Bucky and wiping her tears away quite ruthlessly. “I could refuse it.”

 

Mrs. Bahati shakes her head frantically and speaks again.

 

“It would dishonor T’Chaka. He wanted me to have the vibranium so T’Challa had it made into this sorry excuse for a dress,” Zaara voice trembles. “So I am going to kill him. And then they’ll arrest me and I’ll end up in a Wakandan prison and the children will only be able to visit me once a year. Unless they execute me. For killing him.”

 

Bucky shakes his head. “I wouldn’t blame you, doll.”

 

“You can’t do that,” Steve says nervously, even though he knows she is only joking. “You would never . . . right?”

 

Zaara breathes heavily. He has never seen her so angry. “You’ll stop me, Steve, right? Promise? I, I really don’t want to end up in a Wakandan prison.” She deliberately slows her breaths, trying to calm herself. Praying not to hyperventilate.

 

“Of course I would,” Steve nods, getting even more worried. Suddenly, he finds himself moving closer to her, embracing her from behind while she leans into Bucky, who places his hands upon her forearms. Steve presses his body into her back, using his bulk to hem her in from behind and cover her with his warmth to stop her from shivering. “We’ll get through this, Zaara. I promise. We’ve been through worse and we’ll get through this. Okay?”

 

The shivers stop. But instead, she shakes, her chest throbbing with grief. “No. I will not get through this. I will die of embarrassment. I will drop dead when they serve the soup. I will asphyxiate on a carrot.”

 

He chuckles, starting to figure out how to help her feel better even as violent sobs wrack through her body. Bucky moves closer and she suddenly finds herself hemmed in by both of them. It feels warm and more than a little sexy to be sandwiched between two strapping supersoldiers, but the sudden rush of physical contact only confuses her more. They hold her so sweetly and with such tenderness it gives her a feeling she has never known in her life, an exhilarating sensation she cannot even begin to describe.

 

While she fights back the sobs, Steve takes the opportunity to speak, the certainty in his voice making her melt. “Zaara, you’re not gonna die of embarrassment. I promise. I’ve seen lots of people die from lots of different things, but never that. Okay, honey?” His breath warms her neck and she feels the thrill of a shiver over the surface of her skin. It plunges all the way down her bare back. Goosebumps suddenly appear there.

 

“My scars,” she says abruptly, still trying not to weep. “They’ll see my scars.” And indeed, both men suddenly notice the long, complicated map of pearly white wisps that travel up and down her bare arms. Before he can stop himself, Steve lightly brushes his lips over the welts upon her shoulder just as Bucky raises her forearm to his face and quite deliberately puts his mouth there, giving her scars a soft kiss. Another thrill shoots through her, confusing her even more.

 

“You _earned_ these scars,” Steve says steadily, reluctantly lifting his lips from her skin to speak, but keeping them close enough so she can feel them move while he talks. “You fought a bad man. You should be proud of them. They’re beautiful.”

 

“No. They’re not,” she says through her sobs. _I hate them. They’re ugly._

 

“He’s right. They’re beautiful, just like you,” Bucky whispers earnestly, his breath warming her naked arms. “Don’t ever doubt it, doll. Or I’ll keep kissing them until you know we’re right.”

 

She sighs and tries to stop crying, hopelessly trapped between the two of them, their brawny, powerful bodies dwarfing her own. There is nowhere she can go and she finds herself resting both hands upon Bucky’s chest while Steve’s insistent breath bears down upon her neck. He is struggling not to put his mouth on her again. She can tell he wants her to look at him so she sniffles and makes the effort, turning her head and raising her eyes to his. He smiles so tenderly at her, thrilled to be holding her close and ecstatic that he can finally support her. He projects a supreme confidence, indefatigable in the knowledge that he can and will get her through this night of hell.

 

“I could cancel,” she suggests excitedly and shivers again, her fear of what lies ahead mingling with her fear at having Steve’s body so close to her own. “I could send back the dress, we could leave Wakanda tonight.”

 

“We need their help getting the team out of the Raft,” Steve points out gently, though firmly. “And you made a commitment. The dinner’s in your honour. But T’Challa’s being a real ass. Is something going on between the two of you?”

 

“Yeah, doll,” Bucky chimes in. He’s still enjoying the closeness between them, though he feels awful that Zaara has to cope with having even less clothing on than he does. _And I thought we had it bad._ “Spill. We’ll get you through tonight, but you gotta tell us what the hell’s going on between you two.”

 

She sighs and even the incredible feel of their rugged bodies against her own cannot vanquish her mortification and dread. “Alright. Guess I’m stuck with it. Just let Mrs. Bahati make the alterations and I’ll tell you about it. Okay?” Suddenly, she feels tremendously grateful to have Mrs. Bahati standing right there, watching them with a strange look in her eye. It seems to be restraining the men since they really want to put their lips on her again and she is feeling so goddamned vulnerable.

 

“Sure thing, doll,” Bucky nods, releasing her.

 

Steve is slower to let go, but Bucky snorts at him so he finally relents. How he’s been yearning to touch her again, ever since that afternoon at the lagoon. He relishes the chance to spend the evening by her side, no matter how miserable she feels. He does, however, have the good grace to feel guilty for it.

 

Zaara steps onto the large ottoman, resigned. The seamstress uses some kind of metallic thread to reinforce certain stiches and loosen others, making certain the precarious nature of the design will not abandon her body entirely. Steve and Bucky watch discreetly, keeping their eyes focused on her face while she blushes furiously. They beam her encouragement.

 

“We’ll get through this,” Steve says again, using his best Captain America voice which just brims with surefire confidence. “We always do. You might even laugh about it later.”

 

“If I haven’t killed T’Challa by then,” she retorts. “He’s daring me to try to, you know.”

 

“Don’t take the bait, baby,” Bucky shakes his head. “It ain’t worth it. You’re gonna win in the end.”

 

Mrs. Bahati murmurs something and suddenly produces a blue wrap that had been tucked away in her bag. It is nowhere near as formal or as fancy as what Steve and Bucky wear, and nowhere near the value of the vibranium dress. But Zaara accepts it with relief, kissing her gratefully on the forehead since she seems to be sympathetic to her dilemma.

 

“I’m going to wrap this around me the entire night. I think there’s more material in this scarf than there is in this sorry excuse for a dress,” she says mournfully. When Mrs. Bahati finally leaves, the men see her out and Zaara plunks herself down on the ottoman, head in hands. They soon join her, squeezing her between their bulk, knowing the comfort it provides.

 

“Hey,” Steve murmurs, trying to sound innocent. “You know, we can stay right next to you if you like. All night long. Then, nobody’ll be able to get a good look at the dress.”

 

“You really are beautiful, you know,” Bucky adds, snaking his arm around her waist. “You got nothin’ to worry about.”

 

“That doesn’t help Bucky,” she says very loudly. “I’m not an exhibitionist, you know.”

 

“Yeah, well,” he smirks. “That red bathing suit of yours shows off as much.”

 

“Ugh,” she grouches, cradling her head in her hands. “It’s supposed to be a formal dress. At a formal dinner. NOT a bathing suit!”

 

“So tell us what happened with T’Challa,” Steve delicately changes the subject. “We might as well know. We’re planning a prison break with him, remember?”

 

Zaara sighs. “He’s been dating Storm. Even though she’s my boss, she’s still one of my best friends. But since I came to Wakanda, I discovered he has a certain . . . lifestyle she probably won’t approve of.”

 

Steve glances over at Bucky as if to say, _See? Remember what I told you about men these days?_

 

“I mean, I shouldn’t judge people. But, she’s a close friend. She deserves to know the truth. Plus . . .”

 

“Plus what?” Steve presses.

 

“Ugh, you’re such a Bossypants,” Zaara frowns and shakes her head, directing some of her anger at him now, though she knows it’s unfair of her. “ _Captain_ Bossypants.”

 

“Been called a lot worse than that,” Steve muses, enjoying her teasing. “Let it stick.”

 

“Fine,” she rolls her eyes. “He’s also mad at me because of Ulysses Klaw.”

 

“Klaw?” Steve does a double-take. “You know about him?”

 

“I made Ayo spare his life when he stole that vibranium,” she says quietly. “T’Challa was out of the country at the time and he’s never forgiven me. He won’t trust me the way his father did.”

 

“Oh,” Steve nods, the reality slowly sinking in. “So . . . this is his revenge.”

 

“Pretty much,” Zaara nods. “A bad case of passive aggression.”

 

“We’d call it something else back in our day,” Bucky muses.

 

“What’s that?” she asks, her eyes still red and swollen from crying.

 

“Shenanigans. He’s a real rascal,” Bucky nods. “And hey, maybe he wanted to get a good look at you in that tiny little dress.”

 

Zaara gives him a good shove while Steve chuckles. She glares at him.

 

“Sorry, I’m really sorry!” he quickly apologizes, raising his hands in surrender.

 

Zaara huffs at him. “Well, we’d better get going.”

 

“Let’s pull the plug,” Bucky agrees, helping her up.

 

The three of them head out and kiss the children goodnight. Ellie tells Zaara she thinks the sparkly dress is very pretty and Zaara gives her an extra tight hug. Henry gives the chain around her neck a good yank and, true to its nature, the vibranium does not yield.

 

They move swiftly down the hallways, Steve and Bucky flanking Zaara tightly on both sides. She cannot help but feel her bathing suit concealed more of her body than this tiny piece of fabric that really doesn’t deserve to be called a dress. Indeed, there is a wide slit that cuts all the way from the top of her hip right down to her ankle. The fabric is even thinner over her legs, and she has a funny feeling it is just as thin over her buttocks, but she cannot bear to ask the guys the truth. She’d rather not know. It is so snug and revealing she had to remove her panties, but at least the fabric thickens out over her private parts and conceals the space between her legs. She cannot stand to have the sides of her breasts exposed, though, especially with her back, arms, and shoulders completely bare. She has never felt so naked in her life, even with the shawl from Mrs. Bahati.

 

Incredulous, she cannot wrap her mind around the value of the dress. _What am I supposed to do with this? It’s worth billions._ “By the way, what the hell am I going to do with a billion dollar dress?” she murmurs in despair. “Everything I own gets puked on.”

 

“Don’t worry about that, sweetheart,” Bucky squeezes her. “Let’s just get through this dinner.”

 

“That’s right,” Steve nods stoically, though he secretly cringes. The children can indeed be very destructive. “Complete the mission. Everything else can wait.”

 

The confidence in his voice makes her feel a tiny bit better. _So funny; Captain America's like a mutant with the power to make people feel good inside. Geez._ She turns her head and meets his eyes. He can’t hide the flush in his cheeks, his pleasure at being close to her. He has his arm wrapped tightly around her waist and can feel her hip rub against his thigh the way it did the afternoon they first met. For a moment, she inhales a trace of his breath. It always smells so good, an alluring taste she wouldn’t mind having in her own mouth. She smiles a bit, then giggles to herself.

 

“What is it?” he stops in the middle of the hallway. Bucky comes to an abrupt halt.

 

“I just had an idea,” she says softly, glancing at Bucky. “Maybe we can give this sorry excuse for a dress to Steve. _He_ could use the vibranium.”

 

Steve’s eyes widen.

 

“Uh, doll, I don’t think it’s his size,” Bucky smirks.

 

Zaara cackles, and it’s like music to his ears. “Well, I was thinking of making it into another shield, but since you put it that way . . .”

 

“Oh, wait. I see what you’re getting at,” Bucky muses while Steve looks on, incredulous. “So instead of hitting people with his shield, maybe he can knock ‘em dead in his vibranium dress.”

 

“He’d have to change his fighting style,” Zaara winks.

 

“Shush, you two,” Steve narrows his eyes playfully, but he can see Zaara suppress another laugh so he lets his lips form a slight smile.

 

“Boy, would I like to see that,” Bucky chuckles, not bothered in the slightest and always ready to tease his best friend.

 

“Well,” Steve’s smile grows wide as he meets Zaara’s. “I guess I could try it. Just once. For you.”

 

Zaara lets loose a full-bellied laugh. “What if you just slap people with it like they used to back in your day? Like Joan Crawford and Bette Davis: _How dare you?_  Maybe I should take it off after dinner so you could slap T’Challa with it.”

 

“That’d make this night a hell of a lot more fun,” Bucky muses.

 

Steve blushes, momentarily stunned by the thought of Zaara taking off the dress, but she only laughs harder. “Or, maybe he could wear it like a cape.”

 

“No capes,” Steve shakes his head sternly, trying to get the image of a naked Zaara out of his mind. _Can’t get distracted. Not now._

 

Bucky’s cackles join hers. “You know, doll, once upon a time this kid used to play at being Zorro. Missed your calling, pal.”

 

Steve lets them laugh, glad to give them some relief from the tension. If the joke is on him, so be it. He’s happy to bear the brunt of it to make Zaara feel better. “Come on,” he urges. “We’re gonna be late.”

 

The three of them huddle close as they near the Great Hall. When they reach the entrance, a pair of Wakandan footmen in formal garb bows to them before proclaiming their arrival with a flourish. The guards throw the doors open and the trio makes their entrance as a small audience of Wakandan nobles rises to give them a polite greeting. They quickly take their seats, Steve and Bucky sticking close to Zaara all the while.

 

It is not long before T’Challa enters the hall and takes his own seat at the center of the head table. He nods at the them quite formally, but Zaara detects a smile hidden just behind his poker face. However, his mind remains strangely closed to her. T’Chota, Tsi Tsi, Beor-za, and Talza are seated nearby, the four of them beaming telepathic hugs.

 

 _I would like to apologize on behalf of Wakanda and our former king, T’Chaka,_ Beorza immediately reaches out to her.

 

 _We can’t believe he did this to you, my friend. I am so very sorry,_ Tsi Tsi chimes in.

 

T’Chota, who had also been close to T’Chaka, nods. _T’Chaka would never have allowed this. He’d have beaten that kajanje black and blue. It would have devastated him, to see you shown such disrespect in his home._

_Lucky he’s not here tonight,_ Talza muses. _Hang in there, Zaara. We are here for you. You’ll get through this. And I hope you’ll forgive Wakanda. What a thing to do at a State Dinner. Shame on T’Challa._

Zaara locks eyes with her friends. _Thanks, girls. Just keep me from killing him, okay? I don’t know why, but I can’t read him right now. He obviously wants to provoke me. I can’t take the bait._

_Stick with your boys,_ Beor-za urges, touched to see the men attend to her so caringly. _They’ve got your back. Trust in them. They won’t let you down._

_I will_ , Zaara promises, closing her eyes and willing herself to forget her shame.

 

“Friends and family,” T’Challa rises, seizing the moment. “We have gathered here this evening to honour the friend of my father. It is my duty to bestow upon her this garment fashioned with painstaking care from our most sacred reserve to honour the memory of our great king and my beloved father, T’Chaka. We are thankful for the service she has given him and to the great nation of Wakanda. Let her come forth and say a few words before we feast.”

 

There is polite applause and Bucky feels it: _Zaara thinks she’s gonna die._

 

She will have to rise from her seat and walk to the center of the table, stand next to T’Challa, and deliver a speech to the entire hall. She will have to remove the shawl and display the dress as the prestigious, priceless gift T’Chaka bestowed upon her while standing there, exposed. The center of the attention. Alone.

 

_Not alone, doll. We’re coming with you._

 

Steve gives Bucky a discreet nod and both men rise, keeping Zaara squeezed tightly between them, the shawl abandoned on her seat. They flank her while she rests her hands upon their forearms and makes the long, excruciating walk to the center of the head table and, indeed, the apex of the royal hall. They balance her, step by step, while she clings to them, terrified.

 

_Thank you, Bucky. Please, keep holding me. Don’t let go._

_I got you, baby. Let’s do this._

 

Her whole body trembles as her eyes roam across the vast hall. The guests are few, hardly more than fifty. This is not a State Dinner in the American sense. Rather, it is more of a gathering of the members of the Royal Court with the addition of a few trusted diplomats from allied African countries and the monarch from a small, neighbouring kingdom. The rather limited scale of things is just dandy by her; as far as Zaara is concerned, the fewer people who see her in this shameful excuse for a dress, the better. And, of course, given the reclusiveness of Wakanda and its royal family, there are no cameras present. She swallows and Steve quietly places his hand over the small of her back, pressing into her for comfort. She sighs and lets herself lean into him while Bucky sidles close enough so that she feels every muscle and sinew, all the strength that flows through them—the strength that is supporting her now in her time of need. His breath penetrates her skin and forces her to slow her breathing. She glances at him as he stares defiantly at this hall full of people with an expression of supreme confidence.

 

_I’ve faced scarier things than this, doll. You’re gonna be alright. Trust me._

 

 _Steady, steady,_ her telepathic friends soothe.  _Lean on your men. They won’t let you down._

 

Steve clutches her hand tighter, taking deep breaths to model the relaxation she needs. He readies himself to pick her up and carry her out of this hellhole if need be.

 

Zaara swallows and squeezes her eyes shut. When they reach the podium, she opens them and steps up, Steve and Bucky staying right by her side. She stares hard at T’Challa and begins speaking, her broken voice refusing to hide her feelings even if her words are exceedingly polite. “Ladies and gentlemen. Your Most Royal Highness King T’Challa. And our special guest tonight, King Zumbaka. I thank you all most sincerely for . . . _honouring_ me with this rare and auspicious State Dinner. I am profoundly grateful for the opportunity to have served His Most Royal Highness King T’Chaka and to honour his memory. And for the _gift_ —“ she narrows her eyes at T’Challa who promptly clears his throat, “—of this most _beautiful_ and priceless dress. You do me _great_ honour.”

 

T’Challa’s eyes twinkle mischievously.

 

“I thank you once again. It is a most _distinguished_ offering that can only matched by your kindness and hospitality, which you have so generously bestowed upon me and my family. Please enjoy this very special dinner in memory of our noble King T’Chaka and with . . . with _thanks_ to our new king.”

 

Restrained applause rings over the Great Hall.

 

She steps down from the podium and grasps Steve and Bucky’s hands in hers, squeezing them hard. _Now get me the hell out of here,_ she tells Bucky.

 

_Done, sweetheart. Just keep walking. We got you._

_Excellent work, Zaara. You did us proud,_ the telepaths send a simple message, readying themselves to comfort her with hugs as soon as the opportunity arises. But they can tell she is in good hands and, rather than overwhelm her with telepathic messages, they hold off to give her a chance to recover.

 

Steve swallows, leading the way back to their table, clutching Zaara’s left hand in his right. He doesn’t want to ever let go. _She did it. We’re gonna make it._

 

Noticing that her breaths come faster now, Zaara wonders if she is starting to hyperventilate. Steve glances at Bucky, worry in his eyes, and wraps his arm even tighter around her waist, steadying her. It feels like it takes forever to reach her seat again. Steve slides his chair close to hers, practically propping her up. He grabs her scarf and drapes a swath of fabric over her bare back, allowing the rest to fall over her shoulders to conceal her breasts. T’Challa rises to deliver a speech of his own, though his words quickly fade into the background. The three of them hear nothing; their awareness taken up only with each other. Bucky blows cool breath upon Zaara’s cheek and brings a glass of water to her lips, not sure if it’s from her place setting or his and not caring.

 

Finally, Zaara starts to calm down. Steve watches her like a hawk and notices her eyes wandering towards T’Challa. He can tell she still feels absolutely mortified. Zaara, from what he’s observed, is a rather modest girl, but he’s worried about what she could do with those incredible powers of hers. So far, he has trusted her every step of the way and she hasn’t let him down. Though they disagreed about her tactics in dealing with the Winter Soldier, he knows beyond doubt that her heart was in the right place. And he won’t let her do anything to harm T’Challa. _We’ve gotta let this blow over. I won’t risk letting her make a mess of things, or endangering her family or the school._

 

Her breaths gradually slow, but Bucky shoots him a warning glance and Steve can see now that her expression has changed and it is positively _full_ of rage. The table of telepaths stirs and Beor-za promptly issues Bucky a warning. _Do something, Sergeant. Now._ Steve’s sixth sense kicks in and he realizes with a chill that this is the dangerous part. Now that the speech giving is over, Zaara can let her thoughts wander and he can see that she really wants to murder T’Challa for she’s staring at him, seething. _If looks could kill,_ he thinks. Over at the next table, the telepaths rise fearfully from their seats and Ayo stands at attention from her perch behind the head table. Bucky shoots Steve another worried glance and starts to rise, ready to whisk Zaara away, but Steve won’t let her do anything she’ll regret. He thinks of the children. _Henry needs his mother and so does Ellie._ Instinctively, he takes her chin in his hand and forces her face away from T’Challa, turning it to his own.

 

“Zaara,” he says sharply, but softly enough so he does not draw attention away from T’Challa’s speech. “Look at me.”

 

She is forced to meet his gaze, her chin captured in his powerful hand. Fear and desire mix in his eyes, though she can hardly absorb either. T’Challa finishes his speech and the guests applaud politely in the background. The waiters begin to serve the first course.

 

“You’re _scaring_ Bucky,” Steve says sternly, glad to have her attention and not just for his own selfish purposes. Zaara is a powerful mutant. She needs to control herself; there's far too much power at her disposal. If she loses her temper, something dangerous could happen--something deadly. He saw it happen with Wanda, the loss of control, and people died. He won’t let it happen again. “You need to reign it in, honey.”

 

“I, I can’t,” she stutters, blinking her eyes in misery while tears threaten to fall. Already, her body betrays her and she finds herself responding to his touch with the firm way he grasps her chin, forcing her to look at him. She squeezes her eyes shut. Her voice, barely more than a whisper, takes on the quality of a wail. “All these people can see me, I hear what they’re thinking. They think I’m, I’m a . . .”

 

“Ignore them. What they think doesn’t matter. _They_ don’t matter. Forget them.” A tear escapes her eye and he knows she feels devastated. He can’t figure out what the hell to do about it, but they are in public and he has to do something. He finds himself stroking her chin with his thumb. With his other hand, he gently wipes the tear away. His touch seems to disrupt her, so he goes with it. A wild, untrammeled idea suddenly overtakes him. “Zaara? Would it help if . . . if I kissed you?”

 

Now, he really has her attention. She gasps and abruptly opens her eyes. _“What?”_

 

Steve smiles, staring deeply at her, Bucky watching all the while. Astonished by his own boldness, he presses on. “I will,” he teases, and suddenly he has to fight not to give in to his own desire. _Now who’s the one out of control?_ “If it helps get your mind off it all.”

 

“Helps wha, what?” she stutters again. It is too much sensory input. His face, so close to her own, tickles her with his incredible breath, his eyes smiling at her all the while though she still feels the pain and humiliation over that goddamned dress.

 

Steve brings his lips even closer to hers, surprised at himself. _Hell, I could hardly get close enough to Sharon to kiss her, but I feel so natural touching Zaara. I could kiss her like it’s the easiest thing in the world. And I might._ His voice turns breathless now. “I’ll kiss you. Right here, right now. If you want me to.”

 

Zaara’s breath suddenly speeds up again. _Kiss Steve? Right here? Right now? What the hell is he talking about?_ She can’t fathom it, can’t let go of her rage, everything spinning and spiraling in too many different directions at once. But she cannot deny the desire, the longing that threatens to break through the surface. _I want him. I really want him. So much._ She reads the earnestness in his eyes, the undeniable hunger. A cloud of confusion overcomes her and the telepaths breathe a collective sigh of relief for suddenly murder is the furthest thing from her mind.

 

“No. _No_.” She shakes her head, covers her eyes with her hands, desperately trying to force herself back into a logical frame of mind. _“I can’t.”_

 

Steve tries not to look disappointed, but he won’t release her from his hold. Or his gaze.

 

“It’s alright, doll,” Bucky pulls his chair closer and squeezes her from behind. “Soup’s coming. Eat your dinner and try not to think about kisses. Or killing anybody.”

 

She leans back, resting her head against his cheek, and practically cries with relief. “Okay, Bucky. Okay.”

 

Steve releases her, allowing her cling to Bucky with more than a little regret. _Guess it’s his turn, now._

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Somehow, they make it through the eight-course meal without anyone dying. Zaara and T’Challa are both alive and well and no one chokes on anything. Indeed, Steve and Bucky feel great relief. They love being in this position, love feeling so needed. Taking care of Zaara invigorates them, gives them a refreshing sense of purpose, and not only because they can finally do something in return for all the care she has given them. It’s more than that. _It’s, it’s almost as if, as if she belongs to us,_ Bucky muses, not caring whether she hears him. Steve feels much the same. Her outrage over the dress attests to her own modesty, which is something they both adore about her. She really doesn’t like having all eyes on her. And neither of them wants anyone’s eyes on her but their own.

 

Steve whispers to her throughout the second course, his lips brushing against her ear, still emboldened by his offer to kiss her. “You know, there’s probably going to be some sort of social obligation after the meal, Zaara. Some mingling with the other guests, that sort of thing.”

 

She nods mournfully, though she shivers from his touch. “I’ll keep the wrap on.”

 

“Dunno, sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs discreetly. “They know it’s vibranium, they’ll want to see it.”

 

“They saw it during my speech,” she hisses back. “Hasn’t everybody in the room seen enough of my body, damnit?”

 

 _Not nearly enough, doll,_ Steve thinks to himself, biting his lip. He can’t help it, though he still feels bad for her. “Follow my lead,” he asserts suddenly, sounding more like the Captain again. “I’ve been through plenty of these events since I came out of the ice. We can wrap this up in about twenty minutes, get the hell out of here, and be polite the whole time. Trust me.”

 

“Trust you?” Bucky scoffs at him softly. “Since when have _you_ mastered all the social graces, punk?”

 

“Since I’ve been forced to learn,” Steve admits. Though he’s really not comfortable in large social situations and is not at all fond of small talk, he’s had no choice but to become fluent in it. _Hell, Senator Brandt taught me everything I needed to know back in the day._ “I’ll get you through this, Zaara. I promise. The worst is over. You made your speech, they’ve seen the dress, and you didn’t kill T’Challa. We’re almost out of the woods.”

 

“Almost,” she swallows a sob.

 

Steve heart actually aches for her in that moment, even though he knows there are far worse things in life. But the willful humiliation of this girl tears at him. It feels profoundly wrong and he wonders how the hell T’Challa could have done what he did. Bucky has the same sense along with an inkling that Zaara might be in need of some company tonight when this dinner from hell is finally over. He’s never known her to feel worse about anything. _It’s almost over, doll. We’ll get you through this and we’ll bring you home. And we’ll stay with you tonight, if you like. You shouldn’t be alone when you’re feeling this bad._

 

She looks at him, tears in her eyes, and nods with gratitude.

 

As soon as the meal is over, the girls rush their table, crowding Zaara and practically forming a protective circle around them so they can exit the hall as discreetly as possible. They share their regrets and Zaara finally has enough brain capacity to process their explanation of what happened, how T’Challa wanted to test his ability to conceal things from her, detect weaknesses in her telepathic armour, and punish her for her impudence in allowing Klaw to live by using old fashioned subterfuge along with an ancient concoction of sacred Wakandan herbs to conceal his thoughts from telepaths. He even started the leak about the birth-witch in the palace to test her. It all stemmed from his rancor over her discovery of his lifestyle, and the knowledge that she will share the truth with Storm. It is a bitter pill to swallow, but at least she knows her friends are true.

 

“You’ve all gotten me through this night of hell, every single one of you,” Zaara tells them with profound gratitude. She looks at each of them in turn, including Steve and Bucky. “I’m very lucky to call each one of you my friend.”

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

When they return to the suite, it is near midnight and the children are fast asleep. They have a full day ahead of them, but both men know Zaara is far too wired to rest. They greet Zetha, but Bucky discreetly asks her to remain in the suite before taking Zaara aside.

 

“Look, doll. I know you had a rough time. You’re gonna be lying there in that big ol’ bed tossing and turning all night long. Why don’t you let us get your mind off it all,” Bucky squeezes her shoulders tenderly. In fact, he has not stopped touching her since dinner ended.

 

Tearing her thoughts away from all the misery that preoccupied her for the better part of the evening, Zaara gazes at him, curious, for she has not had the fortitude to monitor the goings-on in Bucky’s mind over the last few hours. “What did you have in mind?”

 

Steve stares hard at Bucky, having no idea where he’s going with this. He can’t disagree that it would be a terrible idea to send Zaara to bed in this state. Sure, she’s tired and needs rest, but her whole body is burning with tension and unresolved anger.

 

“Why don’t we go for a swim?” Bucky suggests mildly. A good dunk in the water ought to lift her spirits, he realizes. _You’ve been about to flip your wig all night long. You need to wash that tension out of you._

 

“In the dark?” Zaara asks, taken aback.

 

Steve is, as well, and worries that Bucky is talking about skinny dipping. “What’ll we do about our clothes?”

 

“What?” Bucky snorts as if it’s the least of their problems. “Get changed, of course.”

 

A little while later, the three of them head towards the lagoon in the dark of night. Zaara can hear its watery thunder, sense the heavy gravitational pull deep within her own chest even though her eyes can barely see a thing. In the distance, the lights of the palace illuminate only shadows, but she can feel the coolness of the lagoon lapping at her toes.

 

“It’s gonna help her, pal,” Bucky reassures Steve, who feels nervous for some reason he can’t explain.

 

“Okay,” Steve replies simply, waiting. His eyes make out the shape of Zaara’s figure in her red bathing suit. It just about killed him to have to stand behind her and fumble for what felt like forever as he tried to undo the clasp on her vibranium necklace, that damned tiny hook mysteriously holding her entire dress in place. He struggled with it for quite a while, in fact, since the clasp was so small and his fingers so large he found it nearly impossible to undo. Bucky couldn’t help since the job was too delicate for his prosthetic hand. When Steve finally undid the clasp, she pressed her hands modestly over her breasts to cover up and he swallowed to see the immediate pooling of the fabric over her many curves. After that, he swiftly withdrew so she could change into her swimsuit and he and Bucky began the lengthy process of shimmying out of their own frustrating man-dresses.

 

The palace guard let them pass without much trouble, but they had to reassure them they’d be careful, swimming in the dark. Indeed, Steve feels something like a lifeguard as he watches Zaara shiver, ankle-deep in the water. _It’s safer to think of myself as her lifeguard,_ he muses. _After everything else I’ve felt tonight._

 

“What’re we waitin’ for, pal?” Bucky grunts suddenly and rushes behind her. Without further ado, he shoves Zaara into the water.

 

Zaara immediately surfaces, coughing and splattering, and slaps her hands on the water in outrage, giving him a few good splashes. “I should’ve seen that coming, Bucky Barnes.”

 

“Yeah,” he agrees nonchalantly. Teasingly. "You're all caught up in yourself, doll.”

 

Zaara says nothing, but swims closer to splash him aggressively in the face. _That’s it. I’ve had all I can take tonight, Bucky Barnes._ But in one swift motion, he catches both her wrists with his flesh hand, holding them fast while she struggles to free herself. He has never used his strength against her before, always keeps it in careful check especially when playing with the children and is, in fact, exceedingly gentle with her now. But there is no escaping his might; Zaara can tell. Her wrists ache as they fight to escape the fierce vigour of his inexorable grip. The more she struggles to break his hold, the more frustrated she becomes.

 

Steve’s not sure he likes what he sees and heads into the water after them. Zaara continues to struggle but Bucky holds her fast, her suppressed sobs sounding between the splashes of water and the heaviness of her breath. “Zaara,” Steve calls softly and moves behind her, the way he did in the suite before dinner. He puts both hands on her shoulders, making her shiver, and she suddenly stops fighting. “It’s all over now. It’s okay.” He massages small circles over her silken skin with his thick, calloused thumbs and she relaxes into him as if she surrenders. “Let her go, Buck.”

 

Bucky smirks. “If I do, she’s gonna punch me.” He’s seen the image in his mind. She’s planning on giving him a good left hook.

 

Zaara leans her cheek against Steve’s hand and he nearly gasps from the sensation. To have her respond to his touch as if she wants more of it sets off something wild in him, even with the cold water numbing the reaction in his body. “Let her go,” Steve repeats steadily, unwilling to thwart Zaara’s desires any longer.

 

“No. Don’t,” Zaara disagrees sharply. “Keep holding me.”

 

Bucky experiences a sudden thrill and imagines raising her arms up over her head, still held fast in his hand, rendering her helpless so that he can kiss her. Indeed, the vision comes to him from _her_ mind. She sighs and he sighs with her, Steve still making light, irresistible circles over her shoulders with his thumbs.

 

With dogged determination, she shakes the image away and bows her head. “Oh, just dunk me in the water again. Might help.”

 

“Whatever you say, doll,” Bucky agrees and immediately releases her hands, giving her a good, friendly shove. Steve goes right down with her, his enormous arms wrapping around her waist and clutching her close. He tells himself it’s because of the dark, he can’t really see her and he doesn’t want to lose his hold on her. She could drown. But Zaara feels the briefest brush of his hardness against her back and finds herself longing to let go, to fall into his arms and relax into him, allow him to hold her and take her wherever it pleases him to go. Her weariness over the long, unhappy evening leads her to rest her cheek upon his shoulder, his arms still snug about her waist and he holds her there while Bucky watches.

 

“Steve,” she says suddenly and puts her hands upon the thick muscles of his forearms, pushing him away. He thinks he offers no resistance, but Zaara feels him hesitate, squeezing her a little tighter and bringing her hips to meet his for the briefest moment before letting her go. The water forms a barrier between them.

 

“Feeling better?” he asks playfully, glad she cannot see his face burn red in the dark, that she cannot read his mind. But he is wrong. Zaara sees it all, the way he longs to hold her close, the way he wants to kiss the back of her neck, cup her breast in one hand while he uses the other to snap her hips against his.

 

But she swallows and speaks in a quiet voice. “Yeah. I’m gonna swim a little now.” She dives under the water and he follows, Bucky close behind them. Somehow, the three of them end up swimming circles around each other in the dark, the men never allowing her to get far from them. Indeed, they grab her every so often and pull her close, gripping her by the arm or ankle or thigh, and releasing her when she pulls away. Finally, she escapes their circle and heads for the waterfall. It sounds louder and heavier than it actually is, but she swims right beneath it, surfacing to let it baptize her, wash away all the bad feelings from this night until she realizes how Steve and Bucky never abandoned her and how, through every moment of this miserable night, she was never alone.

 

They smile and watch the water splash off her face and trickle down her red bathing suit, her long hair catching little glows of moonlight, the roundness of her breasts spilling over with droplets and spray. They give her this space, this moment to be alone, to come to her own resolution about what happened that evening until she turns to face them again, barely able to make out the dim contours of their faces in the darkness.

 

“Thank you both,” she says quietly, knowing their supersoldier hearing will catch her words before they get drowned out by the thunder of the waterfall. “For being there. I’m sorry about putting you through all this over a stupid dress.”

 

“It wasn’t stupid,” Bucky protests. “It mattered to you.”

 

She sighs and admits the truth. “Yeah. It did.”

 

“I’m going to have a word with T’Challa about this,” Steve says softly, though there is a hint of menace in his voice.

 

“He’s not a bad man, Steve,” Zaara meets his eyes in the dark. She’s finally had the revelation she needs about the troubled young king, enough distance to help her understand what the hell happened tonight. “He’s just a jerk. And he’s mad at me and still grieving for his father.”

 

“Alright,” Steve nods absently. “I might not kill him, then.”

 

She finds herself laughing. “Oh, so now that _I’m_ done trying to kill him, I have to worry about _you_ doing it?”

 

“I just said I won’t kill him,” Steve answers innocently.

 

“He upset our girl,” Bucky interjects heatedly. “So we’re just gonna beat him up, is all.”

 

“Oh,” Zaara nods sarcastically. “Okay, first of all, the three of you have already beaten each other up on several different occasions, so the deed has been done, alright? No one is going to beat anyone up. He’s a king and we’re guests in his damn castle, so we have to watch our step. And second of all, I’m not your girl.”

 

“Aren’t you?” Steve finds himself splashing at her playfully, but there is something dark in the undertone of his voice that shakes her right down to the bone.

 

She swallows and stands just a tiny bit taller on the slippery rock beneath her toes. “Steven Grant Rogers, I’m no one’s girl. I’m my _own_ girl.” The men are silent, waiting, fighting to conceal their smiles. Zaara smirks and suddenly summons a huge wave, projecting the energy through the power of her mind. “If anything,” she bites her lip. “You’re _my_ boys.”

 

The wave washes over them, giving both Bucky and Steve a good dunking. “Sweetheart,” Bucky coughs when they surface once again. “This calls for some revenge.”

 

“What did you have in mind?” she shivers, and it is not from the cold.

 

Bucky swiftly swims over to her, grabs her by the hips and tosses her up into the air, trying not to enjoy it too much. With a huge splash she lands right in front of Steve, who dives below the surface to catch her, only to throw her back to Bucky. They toss her back and forth a few more times until she is laughing and gasping for air, their hearts pounding in excitement at their strange, provocative game, throwing and catching Zaara, clasping those slippery wet curves to their own bodies over and over again like a rag doll in their powerful arms. Finally, Steve clutches her tight and holds her fast. The game is over and, with great restraint, he carries her out of the water. “It’s getting late,” he says in a low, husky voice, enjoying the way her cheek nestles into his bare shoulder, the burning pleasure of their embrace. He never bothered putting on his usual swimshirt, it being dark outside and all. His bare skin tingles where it comes into contact with hers, and his heart pounds with excitement. _But nothing’s gonna happen. Not tonight. Not like this._

 

Zaara fully submits to his arms, making him feel as if he could do anything to her. And when he only carries her across the grounds and back to the palace, she is almost embittered by it. All his life, Steve has been an officer and a gentleman, and he is no different now. When they reach the entrance to the palace, he puts her down so carefully it is as if she is made of glass, and the three of them head back to the suite, the men flanking her sides even though she has wrapped herself in her swim tunic. When they reach the suite, Zaara turns to them. There’s no need for anyone to sleep in her room tonight. She’s feeling better and realizes with relief she doesn’t _want_ to think too much about what might happen if the three of them were to share her bed. It has been a very long evening. Being so close to both of them, being held in Steve’s arms, has left her wanting--too much. “Fellas,” she says in a soft voice. “Thanks again—both of you.”

 

Bucky smiles smugly. “You’re welcome.”

 

“Goodnight,” she says to Steve.

 

“Goodnight,” Steve gazes at her like he is completely in love. _Oh, God. I must be crazy._

 

Bucky snorts at him. But before she can get away, he grabs her and tenderly kisses her hair, letting his lips linger on the top of her head. _You are our girl, sweetheart. Whether you know it or not. You’re stuck with us. We’re not going anywhere and we’re gonna take care of you, be there whenever you need us. I promise._

 

Zaara sighs, her heart fluttering.

 

Steve’s eyes all but say the same thing. He smiles reverently at her. “Sweet dreams.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter that takes place in Wakanda.
> 
> Next chapter--off to the Raft and a rescue mission!


	12. Rescue Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long last . . .

 

 

_Rescue me_

_Oh take me in your arms_

_Rescue me_

_I want your tender charms_

_‘Coz I’m lonely and I’m blue_

_I need you, and your love, too,_

_Come on and rescue me_

_Come on baby and rescue me_

_‘Cause I need you by my side_

_Can’t you see that I’m lonely?_

_Rescue me._

_Come on and take my hand_

_Come on, baby, and be my man_

_‘Cause I love you, ‘cause I want you_

_Can’t you see that I’m lonely?_

_Rescue me._

 

 

 

The X-men uniforms are a tight fit.

 

So tight, in fact, Steve and Bucky would almost prefer to be back in their man-dresses again. The design sports a thick X across their chests and, even though they are somewhat stretchy, these garments were not cut for their bodies. Pete’s suit turns out to be two sizes too big. Indeed, it is so bulky and loose Steve deems it too clumsy for combat. Luckily, Logan’s old uniform proves a far better fit, though Steve is about an inch too tall for it and has to keep wriggling his way out of a wedgie, much to their amusement. Zaara secretly enjoys the way it displays his ass, though she is careful to conceal the sentiment from Bucky. Meanwhile, the future Winter Soldier has no choice but to don Bobby’s slender suit. It displays every line of his hard-edged musculature with such intimate detail she is forced to avert her eyes in modesty. While they are actually the same height, Bobby is quite a bit slimmer and Bucky has to yank repeatedly on the collar since it clamps around his neck like a vice grip. The tough, unyielding fabric is no fun at all, even if Steve finds himself impressed by its durability.

 

“This stuff feels strong enough to repel Chitauri weapons,” he observes, tugging at the fabric on his thighs in a discreet attempt to disrupt another wedgie.

 

“It did,” Zaara replies grimly, raising her eyebrows. “Both our boys took hits from the Chitauri. Not a scratch.”

 

“Who the hell made these things?” Bucky asks in amazement, flexing his elbow. It feels tight as hell and the material will not yield. He doubts he could tear it even if he tried. At least his artificial arm, being smaller, helps to ease the constriction on his chest where he boasts far more muscle mass than the young Ice Man.

 

“A dear friend mine. Hank,” she smiles wistfully, hoping she’ll see him soon, perhaps in another week or two. Dr. Hank McCoy, the X-man once known as Beast, runs a research lab out in New Jersey. She rubs her hands up and down the length of her thighs, brushing imaginary dust off her own figure-hugging uniform. It’s a relief to be covered from head to toe, even if her curves cannot be concealed by what is essentially a very snug cat suit. A large X criss-crosses between her fulsome breasts and both men struggle not to stare at it.

 

“Humph,” Bucky snorts, still squirming and cramped. _Almost makes me miss my Winter Soldier gear—almost._ “You sure I gotta wear this, Steve? It’s even tighter than that man-dress.”

 

Steve gives him a sour look. Bucky sighs, resigned, and returns to prepping the Blackbird. Their luggage has already been stowed away and the children are strapped in their seats.

 

“We’d better get moving,” Zaara warns, eying her little monsters. _Peace in the valley, so far. But for how long?_

 

“It’s only sixty minutes to the rendez-vous point, doll,” Bucky says absently, his eyes focused on the many flashing buttons and levers that decorate the control panel. Even with all the stress of a mission, he feels full of glee to be piloting the Blackbird.

 

“You’ve never travelled with kids before, have you, Bucky?” Zaara replies, cocking an eyebrow.

 

Steve gulps. “It’ll be okay. We’ll make it.”

 

Zaara bites her lip and hopes that he’s right. They are flying the children to the home of a trusted mutant family on an island not far from the Raft’s coordinates. All three of them agreed it was the safest option, and T’Challa has provided a generous guard. Zaara flatly refused to see the young king after their fiasco of a dinner, but Steve made a point of meeting him on his own to iron out the final plans for the rescue. A squadron of Wakandan aircraft will follow the Blackbird, keeping their distance to avoid detection. Once they drop off the children, six of the jets will follow them to the Raft while two remain on the island as a guard. Under strict instructions from their king, they will serve only as back-up and will not participate in the rescue unless extraction becomes necessary. Talza and Tsi Tsi are on board two of the jets; the former will follow them to the raft while the latter remains on the island with the children (T’Challa insisted that Beor-za and T’Chota stay in the palace as part of his own personal guard.) Once the mission has been completed, the squadron will return to the rendezvous point and re-unite with the other two jets before heading back to Wakanda, leaving Zaara and the boys to bring the wayward Avengers home.

 

When they reach the island, Ellie and Henry squeal with delight. Alma and Ferdinand, the elderly mutant couple who live there, greet them warmly. It should prove to be quite an entertaining visit since Ferdinand can speak to animals and Alma has wings and can fly. Tsi Tsi is always eager to meet new mutants as well. The children are not at all bothered to have Zaara leave on a mission. Indeed, they are quite used to it and seem far more concerned with saying good-bye to Bucky and Steve. Indeed, they save their biggest hugs and kisses for the two supersoldiers, leaving Zaara understandably cold. “Thanks a lot, you two,” she rolls her eyes, though the children fail to appreciate her sarcasm.

 

“What was that all about?” Steve asks once they are back up in the sky. Still shocked by all the hugs and kisses (there had been more than he could count) he became startled when Ellie even shed some tears, imploring them to stay safe and return to her soon. _Never had anyone worry about me that much except Ma. Never had any hugs and kisses before a mission, either._

 

Zaara shakes her head. “Ellie was remembering her Uncle Logan. He left us and never came back. She’s worried it’ll be the same with you and Bucky.”

 

Bucky turns to her and raises his eyebrows. “What happened to him?”

 

“He . . . he just left,” she admits, sadly. “Well, it’s a long story. He pretty much had his heart broken and decided he couldn’t stay on at the school.” She seems lost in memory and speaks as if to herself. “Terrible taste in women, actually. And the Phoenix incident was the last nail in the coffin. He’s alive, but he’s not doing so well. I need to check up on him one of these days, bring him home if I can. He took a hit for me. I owe him.”

 

Steve and Bucky exchange glances, both of them wondering the same thing.

 

“No,” Zaara interrupts their train of thought. “I know what you’re thinking so, before you say it—it wasn’t me. I don’t date—remember?”

 

The men nod silently and return to their stations. Steve feels a strange sense of relief and somehow manages to impart it to Bucky, who gives a slight nod of acknowledgement, not wanting to draw Zaara’s attention away from the mission.

 

But Steve cannot resist. “What was the Phoenix incident?” he blurts out, his mind working overtime. It’s really not like him, this lack of focus. Suddenly, he recalls how things went south after he confronted Agent Carter about a late night fondue with Howard Stark at the wrong time and place. These are dangerous waters.

 

 “Eight minutes from target,” Bucky interjects, his tone sounding a warning.

 

Lucky for Steve, Zaara is not at all offended by the question. “I’d better save that story for another time.” She unbuckles and moves closer to the monitor, standing next to Steve who sits in the co-pilot’s seat. She never did have good eyesight and has to squint to see the screen properly. Bucky keeps the Blackbird steady while Steve readies himself to grab her if they encounter any bumps.

 

“There it is,” Bucky announces, the Blackbird’s speed still catching him by surprise. “On screen.”

 

“Zaara, are you in range?” Steve asks.

 

Zaara squints harder and shakes her head. They are at ninety-five thousand feet and Steve is confident, thanks to T’Challa’s intel and the wonders of the Blackbird’s systems, that their presence is hidden. The jet possesses some crazy, wildly creative tech that defies detection from radar, satellite feed, and a few other things besides. Nevertheless, he wants them to be as invisible as possible and so issues the order. “Then let’s disappear.”

 

“You got it, Cap.” Bucky engages the cloaking mechanism and the three of them breathe a sigh of relief. “Now what?” their pilot asks.

 

“Zoom in,” Zaara requests. “But maintain elevation.”

 

There is nothing to see but water. Waves roll relentlessly across the screen, deep and opaque.

 

“They’re submerged,” Bucky states the obvious. “T’Challa’s squadron is in a holding pattern.”

 

“Damnit,” Zaara whispers. “We need to get closer.”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky replies, and maneuvers the Blackbird into a downward spiral, lowering their altitude. A hot warmth coils deep in his gut and he realizes that taking orders from Zaara arouses something in him, gives him a earthy sort of pleasure he hadn’t anticipated. He tries valiantly not to let on.

 

Before she can ponder the curiously sexy vibe Bucky is sending her way, Zaara sways and feels the first wretched hints of nausea. Steve, keeping one eye on the monitor, promptly grabs her by the hips and pulls her firmly onto his lap, making a gallant attempt to ignore the needy ache that automatically rises within him. It’s an unwanted but not unexpected response to having her so close. “Hold on,” he wraps both arms about her waist, steadying her.

 

“I’m going as smooth as I can, doll,” Bucky says softly. Compassionately. “Eighty thousand . . . Seventy-five . . . Seventy. We gotta stay far out of commercial airspace. Can you see it now?”

 

Zaara squints and concentrates, trying to ignore the firm, muscular lap supporting her. Steve’s body is hard, thick with muscle, and it makes her feel as if she’s melting and turning into something incredibly soft and pliant. “Sorry, fellas. I need to see it with my own eyes.” She sighs. _Thanks for keeping it smooth, Bucky. You’re the best._

 

He gives a quiet chuckle. _Anytime, doll._

 

“Fine by me,” Steve unbuckles and lifts his own body up with Zaara’s, rising to his feet. It’s an unnecessary maneuver and he fervently attempts to ignore his own longing. Indeed, he has to chastise himself to let go of her. “Let’s head for the hatch.”

 

“Break a leg, doll,” Bucky calls after them, his heart aching slightly even though he knows she’s in good hands. _Stevie’ll watch over you._

 

Zaara detaches herself from Steve quite deliberately and skips over to plant a sweet, feathery kiss upon his cheek. “Enjoy the show, Bucky. You get a front row seat. I’m loosening the tether now, we’ll see how far it can stretch.” She puts her hands on his temples and the deed is done before he can take another breath. They discussed it earlier and Bucky knows this won’t completely sever their connection. The idea of that bothers him too much and Zaara felt it wouldn’t be the right thing to do, anyway. Instead, their bond is looser and lighter—more of a psychic link than a tether. If anything were to happen to him, she would certainly have less of an ability to do anything about it from so far away. But, given their recent session with the Winter Soldier, she is confident Bucky will come back to her if worse comes to worse. At the very least, the link would enable her to find him again, especially with the help of Cerebro.

 

Their intimate connection abruptly disintegrates and he winces from the sudden loss for he’s grown used to her psychic presence dwelling within him, accustomed to the way it hems in his thoughts, fills his mind with warmth. Now he feels cold and bereft, a dull ache throbbing in his heart. He doesn’t think about the children; it was hard enough leaving them on that island even though he knows they’re safe. But losing his connection to Zaara is somehow worse. To have her fill all those spaces that left him vulnerable to Hydra soothed him, made him feel whole. He realizes she has become something like breathing to him and not easily given up. _Like a drug,_ he thinks bitterly, for now he is lost and floating in the coldness of space. The darkness surrounds him and there are no loving arms to hold him, no one to catch him if he falls. He grunts, reminding himself that feelings do not matter now. They’re on a mission. He glances at the monitor and gets down to business. “ _Secure channel 7,”_ he says, his voice strong and unwavering.

 

“7 secure,” Steve chirps back, feeling left out as usual. He can always sense when something happens between them though this time, the sharp edges of Bucky’s pain manage to quell his jealousy. Bucky’s always been skillful at hiding his feelings, though Steve can tell when he’s been hurt. But they’re on a mission now and he becomes all business, too. He nudges Zaara when they approach the plug.

 

“Um, yeah, I can hear you,” she rouses herself to attention, distracted by Bucky’s anguish. “Both of you. Steve kind of hurts my ears, though.”

 

He smiles and carefully removes the unit from her left ear, his glove brushing the sensitive skin there and making her tremble. She fervently hopes he doesn’t notice. He fiddles with it for a moment. “This is how you adjust your settings.”

 

“Um, thanks,” she replies, taking the unit from him and inserting it back into her ear, trying not to blush. _He barely touches me and I shiver. God, how does he do that?_ “I haven’t used it much. I mean, I sort of failed basic training with the X-men.”

 

Steve is just about to pop the hatch. “Failed?” he stops himself in shock. He turns and faces her quite deliberately, hands on hips.

 

“Well I, uh, never completed it,” she stutters in embarrassment.

 

 _“Doll?”_ Bucky calls over the comms, trying not to sound worried.

 

“I was pregnant, okay?” she says, clenching her jaw. “I was having babies and holding down two jobs. I didn’t have _time_ to finish basic training!”

 

Steve only stares at her. “We’re on a mission now.”

 

“I know,” she replies, trying not to get flustered. “I still have my powers. I can do this.”

 

Steve’s face turns grim. _This won’t do. But we’re running out of options._ He sighs, resigned. “This alright with you, Buck?”

 

Bucky pauses a moment before replying over the comms. _“I follow your lead, Steve.”_

 

“Let’s just get it over with,” Zaara sighs wearily.

 

Steve frowns again and stares harder at her. “Next time, you be honest with me. Alright?”

 

“I _was_ honest!” she protests, though she reddens. She knows he’s right. “You never _asked_ whether I finished basic training, Captain Bossypants!”

 

Steve bites his lip. Though they are on a mission, he is painfully aware anything he says can and will be used against him in their personal relationship. “We stick to the plan. We’ll discuss basic training and mission protocol later.”

 

“Fine,” she snaps, trying to get her mind off her personal deficiencies. Her main concern, at the moment, has to be those prisoners on the Raft.

 

“Hold on,” Steve pops the hatch but keeps one arm on Zaara in the face of the howling wind, as if he is afraid she will fly out the door. “Do you see it?” His own supersoldier vision discerns the shape of the Raft where it hovers just below the surface of the water.

 

“My God,” Zaara shakes her head. “I need glasses. It’s so damn far.”

 

“Can you _sense_ it?” he asks determinedly. The closer they get, the more they risk detection. Even with the Blackbird’s advanced cloaking system, he doesn’t want to take any chances.

 

“Wait,” she replies, closing her eyes in the face of the howling wind. She extends her psychic tendrils down to the massive structure concealed just below the water’s surface, searching out the life forms sustained within it. She opens her eyes again, concentrating. “Okay. I’ve got it. I can sense them _._ I can’t tell who’s who from this distance—sorry about that. I’ll have to put all of them to sleep.”

 

“Do it,” Steve sounds like Captain America now.

 

After a brief pause, she nods. “Done. Twenty-seven of them, all counting sheep.”

 

“Good work,” Steve breathes a sigh of relief. _We just might make it after all._ “Don’t worry about ours; wake ‘em up later.” He’s decided to keep a very close eye on each and every detail of this mission, just like he did back when he worked for Shield. With the Avengers, he always found it easier to trust and to delegate. Deep down in his gut, he never really felt at home with Shield. Though he’s never been one to micro-manage his team _,_ Zaara seems inexperienced enough that it worries him. He certainly doesn’t want her to feel like he’s lording it over her after discovering she never completed basic training, but he figures a little encouragement never hurts.

 

She glances at him and relaxes a little. She’s never used telepathy from such a distance before, at least not without Cerebro, and feels quite pleased with her success. “Alright, Captain. Ready?”

 

 “Bring her up,” he commands in the face of the howling wind.

 

Bucky watches onscreen as the water starts to bubble and churn. With a sudden splash, the Raft surfaces--an ugly, enormous circle of metal floating in the open ocean. _Looks like something Hydra would have designed. Sure is telling._ But the high-tech maximum security slam doesn’t impress Bucky nearly as much as the immense display of Zaara’s powers. “ _Doll, you’re_ _amazing_.”

 

“Thanks, Bucky,” she smiles, tickled by his admiration. Sometimes, she forgets how much he adores her. Even without the tether, she has a good sense of what goes on inside him. He’s worried about her and longs to have her psychic presence enfold him again, like a warm embrace. It worries her, the intensity of his feelings, but there’s nothing she can do about it right now. _It’s gonna be alright, Bucky. I got this. Just do your thing and we’ll be out of here in a jiffy._

 

He sighs, glad to hear her voice inside his head again, if only for a moment. _Like a doctor’s prescription,_ he tells himself.

 

Steve’s lips form a small, satisfied smile as his supersoldier eyes take in the surface of the Raft. “Can you teleport us now?”

 

“Yes,” she replies, but her voice does not ring with confidence.

 

“Are you certain?” he asks sharply.

 

“Yes. Yes!” she sputters. “If I can see it, I can do it. I, uh . . .” Steve grips her arm tighter, as if to steady her. She sighs. “I just haven’t gone this far before.”

 

“Just do it,” he sets his lips in a firm line, as if the sound of his voice will inject confidence straight into her veins. “You can see it, you can do it. Right?”

 

Zaara raises her eyes to his and all but flings her arms around him. “Get closer,” she shouts, and though he can barely hear her voice over the roar of the wind, they are words he longs to hear. He finds himself folding her into his embrace and he squeezes her tight, pressing the softness of her ample breasts into the firm, unyielding fabric of their X-men uniforms. For the briefest moment, he indulges in this unexpected closeness and his heart burns, but he shakes himself out of it, mind back on mission.

 

“You gotta hug to teleport?” he shouts over the whipping wind, mystified.

 

“I don’t want to leave you behind,” she replies with amusement. Steve clearly has no experience with teleporting, though she explained the basic mechanism of body contact to him earlier. She did not mention, however, that she prefers hugs to handholding because fingers can slip. “First I hold you close, then I squeeze you tight, turn you to the left . . .”

        

 _“This ain’t no time for the hokey-pokey!”_ Bucky’s voice rings over the comms.

 

Steve detects a tinge of jealousy in it. “What?” he asks, bewildered.

 

“You’re too damn tall!” Zaara protests. “I can’t see the Raft, Bossypants. You’re blocking my view. Left, _turn left_ , please! And quit squeezing me so tight--I can barely breathe.”

 

Steve relaxes his hold on her slightly, moving his hands down to her hips. He has never teleported before. Zaara refused to practice with him, claiming it makes her nauseous. “Hang on,” she calls, eyes on the prize. “Here we go.”

 

Suddenly they can feel the splash and spray of the ocean on their faces and, when they open their eyes, find themselves standing in the middle of a puddle, boots sopping wet and submerged in salt water.

 

“Good work.” Steve immediately surveys their surroundings, on alert for any threats. _Coast is clear._ He gazes down at her, not quite able to believe what just happened. _She did it. She really did it. My God._ “Zaara? You alright?”

 

She raises her eyes to his, hands still clasping his slim waist tight. Gulping down a deep breath, she nods before she can speak. Teleporting feels unlike anything else in a human life. Blink always makes it seem so smooth and seamless, but Kurt was her first teacher and so she struggles to master a more pleasant technique. “I’m fine. I’m just not used to teleporting seventy thousand feet. Glad you didn’t force me to practice. It’s . . . a lot.” She gives a few more pants and wills away the nausea trying to take hold of her gut.

 

“You did great,” Steve smiles, getting down to business. He releases her but stays close enough so that she can use him to steady herself, dropping her hands a little lower. _She must be recovering. Looks like teleporting wore her out._ He savours the feel of her hands on his hips and the corresponding ache it summons deep inside him for half a moment, then takes a second survey of their surroundings. In the back of his mind, he realizes he is saving his astonishment for later. He has been exposed to otherworldly abilities plenty of times before, but Zaara is something new and very different. The scope of her powers is truly breathtaking and he’ll have think about it later—not to mention the exquisite way his body responds to her touch.

 

Bucky’s voice sounds over the comms. _“Status?”_ He zooms in and spots them onscreen, but without his tether, he is in a constant state of fear for Zaara. Steve is less of a worry; Bucky knows him too well, trusts him about as much as he trusts himself on a mission.

 

“On target,” Steve responds swiftly. “Standby.”

 

Zaara finally drops her hands from his body and stands on her own. She concentrates, bringing her fingers to her temples. “The crew is asleep and so are our friends. I’ll start waking them; I can distinguish them now. Wanda, Clint, Scott, and Sam . . . Sam Wilson.” She wrinkles her nose at the last name, but wakes them swiftly, one by one.

 

“Good,” Steve approves. “I’ll locate the entrance.” He sets to work like the perfect supersoldier he is, somewhat relieved to be released from her hold. _My God, if she touches me that way again, it could jeopardize this mission._ The Raft is on automatic lockdown after the surprise surfacing, but it is easy enough to find the way in from the outside. _It’s the getting out that might be the problem,_ Steve notes ruefully. It is likely they will be dependent on Zaara for that, particularly if some sort of unexpected security mechanism or power dampening field should come into play.

 

“Right behind you, Captain,” Zaara nods. “It should be open.”

 

“What? No more Bossypants?” Steve quips as he unfastens the manual bolt on the door. It actually requires a good deal of his strength. He doesn’t want Zaara to waste her energy on such prosaic matters. “Normally, I’d say ladies first, but . . .”

 

“It’s alright,” Zaara laughs. “Chivalry is not dead.”

 

 _“Never. Not with you around, doll. Have you killed the cameras yet_?” Bucky interjects, watching intently. He hasn’t felt quite this vulnerable since becoming Bucky Barnes again, having the two most important people in his life so far from his reach. He can’t take his eyes off the two figures in their sleek black uniforms—Steve so tall with broad, muscular shoulders and Zaara curvy and soft, the large X crisscrossing between her full breasts.

 

“Did it as soon as we landed. All comms, radar, sonar, motion detectors, wifi, infrared, everything’s out but emergency life support systems,” Zaara replies. Forge taught her well. “Everyone’s still asleep. We’re invisible. For now.”

 

Another small, satisfied smile appears on Steve’s lips and he shakes his head. _What she can do with powers like this. Unbelievable. Could have taken the Lumerian Star all by herself._ “Let’s go,” he grabs her by the hand and leads her inside. Though hand holding is not exactly mission protocol, he’s not taking any chances with Zaara. Even so, he must admit that, even if she failed to complete basic training, she’s damn good at her job.

 

With her hand in his, she feels dwarfed by his strength and rather in awe of the way he carries himself in uniform. His professional demeanor makes him seem a completely different person—like a soldier. _What else did I expect?_ Though she knows this is only one side of Steve Rogers and the side most people seem to know, it is a part of him she had yet to experience. _The real Bossypants side,_ she tells herself, though who is she kidding? Cap is damn good at his job, probably the very best there is. It makes her feel like an imposter, even though she has assisted the X-men many times in the past and studied intensively with the Professor,p. Still, she never did complete basic training.

 

The slumbering crew snores peacefully. They lie prone upon the floor, some slumped down in their chairs while others stand, propped between the wall and their stations to Zaara’s surprise, all reminiscent of classic illustrations from Sleeping Beauty, a book which Steve just happened to have read to the children last night. He smiles to himself. “How’s our security malfunction going, Zaara?”

 

“Swell,” she replies as the doors to the cells elegantly slide open.

 

Steve releases her hand and approaches Sam’s chamber, unable to resist giving him a naughty grin. Sam, awake and alert like the elite soldier he is, grins back. “Cap. Good to see you.”

 

“Good to see you, too, Sam,” Steve replies, grasping him by the shoulder and practically yanking him out of his cell.

 

To Zaara’s surprise, Clint Barton already stands at the center of the atrium, the man’s movements swift, slick, and uncannily silent. He stares at Zaara, then glances at Steve. “Cap. And who is the lovely lady joining us today?”

 

“This is Zaara. But we’ll save the pleasantries for later,” Steve glances pointedly at her. Zaara nods in acknowledgment and heads straight for Wanda, just like they had planned. _I’m gonna complete this mission, basic training or no basic training._

 

“Steve, we gotta wake Scott,” Clint interjects, quickly assessing the status of their teammates.

 

“Zaara—I thought you woke them all,” Steve calls after her.

 

She glances over her shoulder. “Not my fault he’s a lazy bum! I woke him up and he went right back to sleep again. I _did_ my job! _You_ wake him up.”

 

Steve chuckles.

 

“Don’t worry, Steve. I got it,” Sam eagerly runs over to rouse Scott. _I’ve waited a long time for this._

 

Zaara approaches Wanda’s chamber with trepidation. Clint follows silently. Wanda is the only prisoner unable to rise on her own. The conditions in her cell seem particularly cruel—no privacy, limited space for movement, a harsh-looking collar clamped around her neck. Zaara’s eyes seize upon the young woman’s straitjacket and she quickly realizes it is much more than just a straitjacket. “We’re taking this thing with us—to study it,” she says, pulling it off her body in one swift telekinetic stroke. The next moment, her collar disappears as well. Wanda nods back, throat dry and arms numb, and Zaara reads her devastation and humiliation almost immediately. “Don’t worry, you’ll never have to wear it again. I’m Zaara, by the way. Pleased to meet you, Wanda. We’re getting you out of here.”

 

Wanda only stares at her with large, wounded eyes. _Where can we go? They’ll come for me. They’ll never stop coming for me._

_I’m taking you to a safe place for people like us. I’m taking you home. We can protect you, I promise._

 

 _“Status?”_ Bucky asks again over the comms, his voice riddled with anxiety.

 

“Standby,” Steve responds. “We’re almost outta here.”

 

 _“Roger that, Cap.”_ He thrums his flesh fingers impatiently upon the Blackbird’s dashboard.

 

Zaara helps Wanda to her feet while Clint grabs the restraints floating in the air just above them. “I got ‘em, ma’am. Just focus on Wanda.”

 

Zaara nods gratefully.

 

Wanda is able to walk. Her limbs are sore and weak, but it is her heart that is heavy. Clint swiftly joins them, supporting Wanda on her opposite side.

 

 _Don’t worry,_ Zaara gives the girl a good squeeze. _You’re one of many. It’ll be alright. I promise._

_Are you, are you like me?_ Wanda asks, bewildered. Already, she senses the truth.

 

_Yes. More than you know._

 

Wanda nods again and, for the first time in weeks, a sense of relief washes over her.

 

Steve waits until Sam and a yawning, bleary-eyed Scott bring up the rear. As usual, Steve is last to leave. Zaara keeps the passageway open and, once he exits, slides it shut with a reverberating thunk. He heaves a sigh of relief, though not as great as hers when he finally joins them on deck.

 

Zaara gazes up at the Blackbird, raising her voice over the thrashing wind and the relentless crashing waves. “Alright, everybody! Group hug.”

 

“Group hug?” Scott repeats with delight. Tired but excited to be escaping the Raft, he yawns and guffaws at the same time. “Aw, man. I never knew you Avengers were the touchy feely type.”

 

“You heard the lady,” Steve’s voice rings out. “Everyone together. Hold on tight. We’re getting the hell out of here.” He pulls Sam and Clint in closer since Scott seems all too willing to get cosy.

 

 _“Get back safe, doll,”_ Bucky murmurs over the comms. But his voice takes on a tinge of resentment. _“And tell Lang to keep his hands to himself.”_

 

“Bucky,” Zaara laughs, embracing Wanda and squeezing her tight. Suddenly, she feels Steve close in behind her, his massive chest shielding her body from the lashing winds and ocean spray. His huge arms wrap around her, hands clasping her lower waist, breath heavy and trembling. She turns her cheek into his chest and gazes up at him. “Do we have them all?”

 

“All present and accounted for, ma’am,” Clint confirms, putting his arms around Wanda and not at all sure what to expect, though he’s ready to go with the flow. The Captain always seems to have some surprise up his sleeve and Clint does not hesitate to give him his absolute trust.

 

“We got all six,” Steve nods, his eyes doing a second count. Sam and Scott stand on either side of Clint, their hands clamped tightly upon his shoulders and Steve’s so that their circle is complete. “Stay together, everyone. Hold tight. Now, Zaara.”

 

“Here goes nothing,” she gazes up at the Blackbird, just a speck in the vast sky.

 

In the blink of an eye, the six of them stand in the jet’s hold.

 

Zaara falls to her knees.

 

Scott staggers, praying not to vomit. “Whatever that was, please don’t do it again.”

 

Pulling everyone up before they topple on Zaara, Steve does a lightening fast headcount. He swings into action. “We got all six. Get to your seats,” he orders them briskly. “Buckle up. MOVE. NOW!”

 

But Zaara doesn’t get up. While the others scramble to the bridge, Steve can see her body start to heave out the corner of his eye. Swiftly, he secures the plug. In the next second, he races back to her.

 

Clint is already there, trying to help her up. Steve waves him off. “Clint! Go sit down, I got this. Thanks.”

 

“Sure thing, Cap,” he nods, assessing the situation in a flash. “You know where to find me.”

 

 _Doll, you alright?_ Bucky checks the monitor. Sensors reveal seven life forms on board so he knows she is safe and back on the Blackbird again. Still, without their tether, he feels a keen sense of loss.

_Ugh, gonna hurl, Bucky . . . I’ll be okay. I promise. Don’t worry—side effect. Sorry._ Zaara is amazed her mind can impart that much information to him. She steels herself, realizing how badly he needs her, and tries to strengthen their link as best she can just before that horrible feeling returns and she has to vomit. When it’s over, she attempts in vain to re-establish their connection, but only ends up heaving on the floor.

 

Steve gently brushes her hair away from her face and, as soon as she’s done, picks her up.

 

She really doesn’t have much ammunition left. In fact, she anticipated this reaction so she deliberately ate very little before they left Wakanda. Both men noticed and disapproved. They think she eats too little anyways, but they always make a point of eating very heartily before a mission. Next to their supersoldier appetites, the servings on her own plate seemed rather sparse. Zaara told them she felt too nervous to eat, much to their dismay. Teleporting usually makes her nauseous, but she didn’t bother expounding too much upon this fact while they were planning the mission. Indeed, Steve kept asking her to practice with him before they left, but she refused in the belief that the unpleasant side effect was none of his business. Now, she must begrudgingly admit she kept it secret because he would have probably cut her from the mission if he knew the truth.

 

Nothing makes her sicker than teleporting.

 

Usually, she can manage to avoid vomiting, but under these circumstances, (she has never teleported such a large group such a distance before), it is of no surprise. Problem is, she cannot stop. Even when there’s nothing left in her stomach, she keeps right on heaving. By now she is on the floor of the tiny restroom and aiming for the toilet. Steve somehow got her there without her even noticing. In fact, he is holding her upright. The few times he has lifted her, she’s felt light as a feather so she supposes that’s why she didn’t notice it now, but the thought is only a brief one because she is already heaving again and it doesn’t matter anyways.

 

_Ugh. This is awful. I wanna die. When will it be over?_

 

In the pilot’s seat, Bucky catches her thoughts and cringes. _Poor doll._

 

“Stand me up,” she manages to pant between the involuntary undulations of her torso and Steve lifts her up so she can grasp the sides of the sink with both hands. She has nothing left. She is trapped in a wretched cycle of dry heaves and there’s no sign of it stopping. “Water.” He turns on the water and she splashes her face with one hand, but Steve soon takes over since she needs both hands to balance. “Mouthwash . . . please.” She cannot bear the taste in her mouth.

 

Steve finds the mouthwash and pours some into a cup, using his strong body as a brace while her hands clutch the sink. “But you’re not done,” he protests, seeing her start to heave again.

 

“I need to rinse. _Please_ ,” she begs, so he wipes her face off with a wet paper towel, then pours some of the green liquid into her mouth. She swishes it around and spits it out quickly just before the next series of heaves arrives. It does not help that Bucky starts to swerve the Blackbird upward in rapid spirals to avoid detection from some unexpected sensors the Raft still has in place. She would stop them if she could, but she’s a little distracted right now. Luckily, the Blackbird’s tech can pinpoint them, though it does require some fancy flying on Bucky’s part. Despite the incredible technology of the jet, the former Winter Soldier won’t take any risks. No one is going to know who the hell broke into the Raft and how the hell they did it. Meanwhile, Steve keeps pressing his body into hers so there’s no chance of her falling, but it doesn’t calm her system. “Again,” she begs, and he pours another shot of mouthwash between her lips. She swishes it, then spits it out.

 

“Okay,” she finally sighs, exhausted and collapsing onto him like a ragdoll.

 

This time, she notices when he takes her in his arms and carries her like a baby out of the tiny restroom. “I’ll lie you down,” he says softly before he brings her to the little nook that serves as a sickbay. Bracing her with one arm, he uses his other to release the bunk and tenderly lays her down upon it. From apparently out of nowhere, he produces a wet cloth and wrings it out before dabbing its chilly dampness against her temples, reducing her trembles.

 

But the change in position only triggers more heaves.

_Zaara, what the hell is wrong?_ Bucky asks, distracted by worry and feeling lost.

 

_Dry heaves. Just fly the damn plane, Bucky. I’ll be fine. Try to ignore it. I’m sorry, honey._

_Steve got you?_

 

_Yeah. He’s taking care of me. Don’t worry._

_Don’t tell me not to worry about you, doll. You get no say in that. Just let him take care of you. He’ll do anything for you._

 

Steve immediately sees that keeping Zaara horizontal is a terrible idea right now. Desperate, he looks around to find an alternative and catches sight of a seat folded into the wall immediately next to the bunk. He sits Zaara up straight again, supporting her with one arm, and yanks the seat out with his other. It has a belt.

 

“Let’s try this,” he says steadily, ignoring the sudden bout of turbulence. But he quickly sees that Zaara is far too weak to sit up on her own. Her empty stomach and the strain of the mission have left her body shaking with chills. Nevertheless, he straps her in. “You need fluids,” he observes gruffly.

 

“In there,” she gestures towards a compartment with a trembling hand, heaving yet again and trying not to let her face bang into the wall. It is so tiring just to sit up and she clings to the back of the chair in vain, her body slumping slowly to the floor, the belt barely managing to keep her in the seat.

 

Steve promptly returns with a bottle of Vitamin Water. “Zaara?” She feels his powerful arms sit her back up on the seat again. “Drink.” He puts the bottle to her lips. “Slowly.”

 

“I, I can’t,” she protests, shaking her head. “Too much.”

 

_Drink, doll. Do as Steve says. Let him take care of you._

She realizes now that she is keeping an open link with the former Winter Soldier. They’re not quite tethered again—not yet. But they have a connection. She can’t sense him at every moment, but he’s reading her thoughts. _Okay, Bucky. I’ll try._

 

“It’s alright,” Steve says gently. Insistently. “We’ll go slow. Here. I’ll hold you up.”

 

He unbuckles her and in one swift motion, she suddenly finds herself seated in his lap. It feels incredibly good to rest her head upon his chest while he scoops her up, his powerful hand supporting her lower back. The heaving stops. Being vertical seems to put an end to it. Zaara sighs. If she were not so tired, she could sit up on her own and be just fine. But between the soreness from all the heaving and the dehydration in her body, she’s starting to feel the beginnings of a wicked headache. Moreover, it dimly occurs to her that she is sitting in Captain America’s lap—and there isn’t a damn thing she can do about it.

 

“Steve,” she says, after he makes her take yet another tiny sip. It doesn’t seem to satisfy him. At all. “No more. Please, I’ll just hurl it all over you.”

 

“Well,” he muses. “It’s not my suit. I wouldn’t mind.”

 

She laughs and smacks him in the chest half-heartedly. “Buckle up, soldier.”

 

He demurs. “Nah. I gotta find a way to buckle _you_ in.”

 

“Can’t,” she shakes her head at him carefully, not wanting to trigger more nausea. “Too tired. You gotta hold me up or I’ll start heaving again. Buckle _yourself_ in. At least one of us will be safe.”

 

“No,” he refuses. He won’t allow it.

 

“Steve.” With great effort, she raises her face to his and looks him straight in the eye, her hands resting upon his chest. “I know I’m safe in your arms. We’ll _both_ be safer if you buckle up. Please.”

 

He gazes back at her and sighs, defeated. _She’s right._ “Okay.” Reluctantly, he buckles himself up.

 

Zaara breathes happily, her heaving a thing of the past, and finally lets herself snuggle into him. _What the hell._ Indeed, at this moment, there’s nothing she wants more. Suddenly, she’s never felt better. She’s tired and weak but feels incredibly safe. By the time Bucky lands at the rendezvous point, she has fallen fast asleep. Even when the children come on board, jumping and shouting and grabbing at her, she does not stir. She is utterly exhausted. Steve holds her all the while, protecting her from their rather violent display of affection, reassuring them that their mother is just fine.

 

“Mama sleeps a lot,” Ellie nods knowingly. “She needs rest.”

 

“That’s right,” Steve agrees. “Why don’t you and Henry go and meet our friends up front? I’ll stay here with your Ma.”

 

The children scurry off, excited to be back on the jet while their mother sleeps. Steve watches them, a secret smile upon his face. It feels so good to have them back. When they get to the bridge, they greet Bucky with fierce hugs and kisses before he makes his way to the hold. The children eye the strangers on board with suspicion but quickly plant their faces in front of individual screens, absorbed by cartoons. Bucky leaves them and, when he comes across Steve holding a sleeping Zaara in his arms, he stops and puts his hands on his hips.

 

“Gonna go catch up with your friends?” Bucky smirks. “Or you staying here?”

 

“There’ll be plenty of time to catch up when we get home,” Steve retorts, eyeing him playfully and squeezing Zaara ever so slightly. “I’m a little busy right now.”

 

“No kidding,” his friend gives a perfunctory nod, but his eyes are knowing. “I could, uh, take your place, if you like. Hold Sleeping Beauty there—if you need a break, Cap.”

 

“Nah,” Steve says casually. “I got it.”

 

“The hell you do, punk,” Bucky grins fully now. Jealously. “Not sure she’d approve if she knew how much you like doin’ it, though.”

 

Steve blushes. He really cannot deny it. He loves holding Zaara. “Just get us home, Buck. Fast.”

 

“They won’t know what hit them,” Bucky demurs, gazing in the direction of the Raft.

 

“They might,” Steve’s voice takes on some urgency. “Zaara would want us to get the hell out of here.”

 

“Fine,” Bucky agrees. “You’re right. Just, hang on to her. Keep her safe. Alright?” He cannot conceal the worry from his voice.

 

 _He’s afraid for her,_ Steve realizes. “She’s alright, Buck. Just tired out. She warned us about this. Told me teleporting makes her sick but wouldn’t say much about it, wouldn’t practice it with me. I’m gonna have to grill her on _everything_ if we ever take her on a mission again.”

 

Bucky’s grin turns bitter now. He comes closer and rests his hand upon her brow. It feels cool and sweaty and he brushes some of the brown tendrils back from her face. A strange combination of relief, envy, and affection overcomes him. “Little minx. She knew we wouldn’t let her go through with it. Still, she did the job. Bet you any money that’s what she’ll say when she wakes up. You hold her tight, punk. I’ll get us home.” He turns and makes for the cockpit, checking the children’s seatbelts on his way.

 

Steve sighs and cradles Zaara closer. The Blackbird launches into the air, its smooth, powerful flight barely causing a quiver in their bodies. Still, Steve always finds takeoff a bit of a tense experience and clasps his hands together, squeezing her in his arms since she has no seatbelt. She sighs in her sleep and her face falls closer to his, the skin on her cheek brushing his jaw. He closes his eyes and breathes in her scent. Without fully realizing it, he presses his lips to her forehead.

 

For the next two and half hours he stays like this, his body strapped in tight, a sleeping Zaara in his arms. Occasionally, she shifts her weight in his lap, but mostly she remains in a deep slumber. Her body slumps across his torso, her head resting upon his chest, and he feels like he’s in heaven. At least for now, in this moment, she is his, captured and constrained, a prisoner in his arms and he has never felt better in his life. _God, what I would give to keep her this way. Feels so good, better than anything. Maybe I finally figured out what makes me happy. I don’t need anything else in the world if I can have this and Bucky back, too._

Suddenly the future seems unreal, this new life waiting for him at the X-mansion with Zaara and Bucky and the children. He wonders how long it will last and, if it ends, where he will go, what he will do with himself, but he can’t answer those questions. Not now. He only wants to think of the immediate future, his future with the woman currently asleep in his arms, the woman whose hip is clasped in the palm of his broad, muscular hand. The woman whose soft breasts are pressing into his own chest so that he feels every breath, every sigh while her eyelids flutter, lost in the midst of unknown dreams. Desire for her pulsates through his body, pumping like the blood running through his veins, but the swell in his heart betrays a different sort of desire and he sits there, drinking her in, his nose tickled by strands of her hair.

 

His reverie is briefly interrupted on two occasions by Sam and Clint who make individual visits to check in with him. Both men keep it short, however, sensing Steve wants privacy. They know they will have ample time to discuss matters back in the States, given that they are on the run.

 

They eye the mysterious woman in his arms with gratitude, but keep their thoughts to themselves.

 

Towards the end of the flight, Zaara stirs and shifts her weight back and forth in his lap. Steve watches and waits, holding her carefully so that she does not fall, but loosely enough so that she can still move. Suddenly, she sits up straight, not fully awake, and the cool air winds like a ribbon between their bodies. It feels good to her, this bit of coolness, and, as if she is in bed, she unconsciously adjusts her torso so that she leans into his opposite side. Steve takes the cue and gently assists her, moving her legs over to the other side of his lap. Soon, she adjusts and nestles back into him, her cheek upon his shoulder, and sighs. Tucked in his lap like a baby bird in its nest, her warm side meets the coolness of the aircraft while the rest of her snuggles in to capture his relentless body heat, amplifying it between the two of them. Her eyes remain screwed tightly shut. He is not sure whether she is partly awake, but he won’t say a word. He doesn’t want to break the spell.

 

She sleeps.

 

He sits there, holding her, feeling like she’s his. Her scent floats into his nostrils with every breath and, since there is no one else around, he opens his mouth to take it in through there, feeding on it as if it were something wanton, a sensual and forbidden fruit. His mind wanders to the children who sit up front with Bucky and the rest of his team and he finds himself wondering if, somehow, Zaara could ever belong to him. If that happens, he knows _they_ will be his as well. _Ellie and Henry. A package deal._ He imagines what it would be like to be their father, if he even dare dream of being that to them—the man out of time. It seems presumptuous at this point. He has to admit he adores Zaara, but he’s still uncertain about the way she feels about him. Sure, he knows she’s physically attracted to him; those vibes were there the moment she first touched him in that café and he senses them still, each and every day. Hell, all kinds of women find him attractive since he made the change, but it’s not enough. He wants, _needs_ , more than that. It always feels so curious to him whenever she insists she doesn’t date. _Can’t? Or won’t?_ That seems to be the crux of it—he needs to find out why.

 

He closes his eyes and relaxes, holding her, surrendering to all the feelings that pour through his body. Sighing and shaking his head, he admits the truth to himself: _This feels so right. Smells right, too. Like it’s the way it should be._

 

A little while later, they begin their descent into Westchester.

 

Zaara stirs. Sighing, she rubs her eyes and comes to feeling the incredible warmth of another body pressing against her own, a stark contrast to the cool air circulating on the plane. It takes a few minutes before she realizes she’s sitting in Steve’s lap. _How long have I been here? What the hell’s going on?_

 

“Good afternoon. I think,” Steve’s voice reverberates into her consciousness. It sounds amused.

 

Zaara rubs her eyes again and yawns. _Oh, God. I’m still in Steve’s lap. He’s holding me. I can’t move._ “Have I been sitting here all this time?”

 

“Uh, yes,” Steve replies, cautiously. He really hopes she won’t be upset by it, though he doesn’t regret it for a second.

 

She presses her lips together. _Shit._ “Alrighty, then. I think I need to stretch now.” In the most dainty and casual way she can, she uses his shoulders to push herself up onto her feet. He grasps her hips, steadying her body which trembles in response to the vibrations of the plane. The Blackbird flies quite smoothly, but Zaara is still weak and dehydrated.

 

 _Hey there, doll,_ Bucky registers her conscious state. _Steve behaving himself?_

_I would have you know he’s been a perfect gentlemen,_ she responds primly.

 

_To your dismay, right?_

_Stop it, Bucky. Shame on you._

_Sorry, doll. Couldn’t help it. You know he’s crazy about you, right?_

_And you know I don’t date, right? Now if I can just pry his arms off me, I’ll head over to the bridge._ She pushes Steve’s arms firmly away and he offers no resistance.

 

“Better drink some more,” he reaches for the Vitamin Water.

 

“Ugh, is that the same bottle you kept shoving at me before I passed out?” she grumbles, still not fully awake. In this position, standing so close to him while he is seated, his face is practically between her breasts.

 

Steve shrugs innocently, gazing intently up at her eyes, trying to ignore the fact that she is standing between his legs which are spread open wide. She is still close enough so that he can breathe in her scent. “You must be really dehydrated by now. It’s been almost two hours.”

 

Sighing again, she takes the bottle from him and jams it in her mouth, chugging. He watches, relieved, but concerned she may throw up again. She stops and swallows, looking hard at him. “Don’t worry—I’m fine. I’m just sorry everyone’s been stuck with the kids for so long.”

 

 _Kids are fine,_ Bucky reassures her. _They’ve been watching movies the whole time, never bothered learning anybody’s name. You sure are right about TV being a bad influence on ‘em._

 

Zaara smiles and turns towards the bridge.

 

“Hold on,” Steve unbuckles himself and puts his arm around her. _Feel like I gotta keep holding onto her, don’t wanna let go. What’s with this instinct of mine?_  “You need to eat something first. And drink some more, too. Once you step on the bridge, they’ll never give you a chance.”

 

She turns back to him and, to his surprise, yields. “You’re right.” She yanks down the cot and takes a seat, propping herself up on her elbows. The nausea, thankfully, seems to have vanished for good. Steve opens the storage compartment and grabs a few protein bars and another Vitamin Water.

 

Zaara gives them a sour expression, but says nothing as she takes one from him. She eats it while he watches intently. An awareness slowly dawns on her. _He’s taking care of me, looking after me. Like I’m his ward or something._ “I’m really okay, Steve,” she says quietly. “We should almost be home by now.”

 

“Yeah,” he nods absently, his voice soft. Something in his heart aches. He virtually never gets any time alone with Zaara and, even though he’s glad she’s feeling better, he hates to have it all come to an end. _But the most important thing is she’s alright. That’s what matters._

 

“Well, thanks for, uh, taking care of me,” she says, blushing. “Hope your legs aren’t all numb from me squashing you all that time.”

 

“I’m fine,” he gives her a small smile. His eyes are warm and beaming affection. Like they adore her.

 

She clears her throat and casts her eyes down at the floor. It’s hard to look at him when he’s staring at her this way. “You really do make a very comfortable chair,” she adds, tilting her head up and giving him a brilliant smile before she laughs at her own silliness.

 

_Zaara._

 

“It’s Bucky,” she says, suddenly. Steve perks up. “We must be getting close. I’ll have to help him land.”

 

“Help him land?” Steve is taken aback.

 

“Well, not in a technical way. He, uh, doesn’t know the landing coordinates are in the basketball court.”

 

“The basketball court?” Steve’s eyes widen with surprise.

 

“Yup,” she finishes chewing the last bit of the protein bar. “The landing pad’s hidden beneath it. He’s gonna get really confused in a few minutes.”

 

Steve nods and rises with her, following her to the bridge, his hand on her lower back, his heart heavy knowing he’ll to have to share her with a whole host of people, both on the jet and after they land.

 

The children wear earphones, faces planted on their screens. Nevertheless, they leap up when Zaara appears. She gives them huge hugs, but quickly chastises them for not being social with their guests. Steve makes the introductions, and each Avenger expresses gratitude for the rescue. Even Wanda looks happy.

 

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you all,” Zaara beams at them. “And, uh, sorry we took so long.”

 

“Think nothing of it,” Scott gives her a goofy grin, obviously smitten with her. “You saved us. You’re, like, my favourite hero now. You’re like Supergirl. Or something.”

 

Bucky gives a low growl.

 

“I knew you’d come, Cap,” Sam gives him a knowing look. _First a blonde. Now a brunette. Nice, Steve._ “You two doin’ alright, now?”

 

“Better,” Steve nods, trying to maintain his composure. But he can’t fool Sam.

 

“Heads up,” Clint’s attention, always unflappable, is trained on the monitor.

 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Bucky nods. “Don’t see where to land. We’re headed for a, a basketball court?”

 

“Yep, that’s it,” Zaara smiles. “Land there.”

 

“Uh, alright,” he does not sound convinced.

 

“The pad’s right beneath it. You’ll see,” she says calmly.

 

“Is it?”

 

“Yes, Bucky. Don’t worry.”

 

Clint watches silently, taking everything in. Wanda seems preoccupied while Sam’s eyes are fixed on Steve. Scott, meanwhile, is fixated on her.

 

“Don’t wanna break the basketball court, doll,” Bucky murmurs. “Gotta mind to play some Horse with Stevie.”

 

Zaara smiles and squeezes his shoulder. “You’ll be just fine. I’ve already got an interface with Forge. It should be opening . . . now.”

 

Their rapid descent gives him a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach, but, just as Zaara predicted, the ground swiftly opens up and Bucky engages the delightful hovering mechanism to give the Blackbird a perfectly smooth landing.

 

“Excellent, Bucky,” Zaara breaths, just noticing he had put his arm around her.

 

“You shoulda buckled up, doll,” he admonishes her. 

 

“I knew you’d keep me safe,” she squeezes him back and gives him a quick peck on the cheek. Clint notices and exchanges glances with Sam while Steve bites his lip.

 

“Oh, so are you two, are you together?” Scott asks loudly. Awkwardly. “Because, Miss, uh, Miss Zaara? You’re awesome. I would totally ask you out for uh, coffee and crackers after all this. I mean, we owe you tons. That Raft was hell and uh, you’re so beautiful and you saved us all . . .”

 

“Don’t mention it, Mr. Lang,” Zaara smiles. “Bucky and I are good friends. That’s all.”

 

“Oh? Oh, so that means, I could still ask you out . . .” Scott fumbles out of his seat. “By the way, call me Scott.”

 

Steve slaps him on the back, reddening. “Come on, Scott. Let’s head out.”

 

“ _Ow!_ Oh! Aw, sure Cap! That’d be great.” Even after a two hour flight and a sharp smack, Scott remains dizzy and disoriented. Zaara decides not to hold it against him. The team, after all, has been through hell. And Wanda still hasn’t said a word, not for the entire voyage, as far as Zaara can tell.

 

_Did Bucky tell you all about our school?_

 

 _Yes, ma’am,_ Wanda responds, glad to communicate telepathically and not out loud. _I hope you won’t mind me staying a while. I don’t have anywhere else to go._

_You are more than welcome here. In fact, you’re one of us. You belong here. And you’ll be safe. We’ll talk later, okay?_

_Okay._

_It’s great to meet you, by the way. I’m Wanda._

_I’m Zaara. I know we’ll be good friends._

 

Steve leads his weary band down the gangplank to where a group of people await them in the subterranean hangar. Front and center, he recognizes the lightening-haired woman they spoke to on the monitor back in Wakanda. Her name is Storm. _Ororo Munroe._ Zaara called her one of her best friends. Even after Zaara warned him, he is still somewhat startled to see that nearly all of them are women. One sports a white streak in the middle of her long, brown locks, and another is petite with much darker hair. There’s also a couple of younger looking girls, one chewing bubble gum and the other with unusual streaks of colour in her hair, mostly pink. It almost makes him shake his head, the strange way women like to colour their hair these days. There is another young woman with brown skin and a black cloak that covers half her face and all of her body. A taller, somewhat lethal looking lady stands to the side, holding hands with a rather handsome blonde man, both wearing serious expressions on their faces. A gaggle of giggling girls hovers in the opposite corner, clasping their hands over their mouths and struggling to keep quiet. They fail, for the most part, their soft titters ringing in his ears. Behind them, far in back, stand two young men. Or boys, he’s not sure which, one tall and broad and the other shorter and slimmer. _Must be Pete and Bobby; she’s mentioned them a few times._

 

Ororo Munroe steps forward and gives a broad, enigmatic smile. “Welcome to the Xaviar School.”

 


	13. I Only Have Eyes For You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A super long chapter that took a super long time to write--sorry about that.
> 
> Enjoy.

 

_Are the stars out tonight?_

_I don’t know if it’s cloudy or bright_

_I only have eyes for you, dear._

_The moon may be high_

_But I can’t see a thing in the sky_

_I only have eyes for you, dear._

_I don’t know if we’re in a garden_

_Or on a crowded avenue._

_You are here, so am I_

_Watching millions of people go by._

_But they all disappear_

_From view._

_I only have eyes for you._

“Welcome to the Xaviar School.”

 

Storm’s voice reverberates across the vast subterranean chamber. Her enigmatic smile commands everyone’s attention—from her own crew of colourful X-men to the disheveled, wayward Avengers. They all fall under her spell. The weary travelers hold their collective breath until Steve bravely ventures forth to act as their leader once again.

 

“Thank you, ma’am,” he replies on their behalf, his ragtag crew wondering what on earth has befallen them. All eyes drink in the curious looking women who greet them in this strange and secret hangar that lies beneath a basketball court.

 

_Who are all these girls?_

_Where the hell are we?_

_What happens now?_

 

Sam Wilson, hypnotized by her Amazonian figure and long platinum locks, restrains himself from sending a low-pitched whistle her way. _Damn, girl, you’re fine—even with those streaks of lightening in your hair._ Instead, he catches her gaze and, before Steve can say another word, gives a wisecracking grin. “Toto, we ain’t in Kansas no more.”

 

The inscrutable Storm suppresses a smile.

 

Zaara catches his inappropriate thoughts and clears her throat, staring hard at the man also known as the Falcon. Plenty of men have been smitten by Ororo Munroe over the years so it’s really no surprise. If they can get past the startling glow in her oval eyes and her phosphorescent hair, they can see she’s quite a beauty. And so Zaara lets it go, her joy at being home overshadowing Storm’s vaguely offended sensibilities. Meanwhile, Steve forces his mouth into an awkward smile and Bucky trembles at her side. The former Winter Soldier hates to have so many people staring at him. It makes him wilt. For a man seasoned by battle, who knows a thousand different ways to kill, who’s had his face plastered all over the news, he’s being terribly quiet. Zaara, of course, feels right at home. And so, she grasps Bucky’s forearm, strokes it up and down and entwines his fingers with her own. Grateful for her touch, he squeezes her back. Suddenly, the children burst out of the Blackbird and throw themselves into the dozens of arms that await them, giving their friends hugs, shrieks, and kisses.

 

Storm maintains her composure, eying Sam with a healthy amount of skepticism while Pete and Bobby scoop up the children and lead them away, as they always do. The boys have been enthusiastic babysitters ever since they first came to the school. The children have energy to burn after being strapped in the Blackbird all day, so they get spun around in circles and tossed up into the air. Steve and Bucky find themselves in the grip of a sudden and unexpected state of jealousy. Zaara isn’t bothered at all. In fact, she is relieved. It will be easier to introduce Bucky to this new environment without all their chaos. Nevertheless, she makes careful note of his envy, filing the feeling away so she can consider it later. It never occurred to her that he would feel so possessive of them.

 

“Excuse me, Captain,” she says politely before stepping in front of him, still clinging onto Bucky’s hand. It is her place to act as a liaison between the two groups, even if Steve is more than capable of handling it himself. Still, she would rather avoid formalities and keep things as casual as possible because a more official sort of meeting will happen soon, probably tomorrow. The X-mansion is her home, after all. Everyone has been through hell and this is no time for a diplomatic summit between the X-men and the Avengers, especially after the very public mess in Leipzig and their stint in the Raft. She quickly decides to go with a brief global introduction, rattling off the many names in quick succession.

 

“Avengers meet Storm, Rogue, Kitty, Betsy, Alex, Jubilee, Sooraya, Blink, Celeste, Mindii, Phoebe, Bobby, and Pete. Don’t worry—it’ll take a while to get to know us all. We can remind you of everyone's names again later. I think most of our crew is pretty tired, so why don’t we take them to their rooms so they can freshen up? I’ll look after Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes.”

 

Kitty and Sooraya volunteer to lead Sam, Scott, and Clint off to their own private rooms, the men all too willing to follow. Zaara winks at the triplets who take charge of Wanda, their telepathic ways a soothing surprise to the traumatized Avenger. A private room of her own will bring her great relief after her humiliating stay in the Raft.

 

Steve’s eyes betray his concern as he watches her go, but Zaara notices and squeezes his arm. “It’ll be alright, Steve. They’re good girls, they’ll look after her. You’ll see her again soon, probably tonight.”

 

A sharp guilt hits him for neglecting his team on the Blackbird and somehow, Zaara manages to read it. “I’m sorry for keeping you from them,” she apologizes softly and he gazes down at her. Her sincerity undoes him, eases his burden. And it surprises her, to have been able to read his guilt, but she has no time to consider it.

 

“It’s alright,” he clears his throat, noticing a new light in her eyes. _It was worth it. I’d never pass up the chance to hold you._ “I’m just glad you’re feeling better.”

 

“How could I not? I’m home,” she smiles and looks back to Bucky.

 

The former Winter Soldier nods stoically, his face a mask of indifferenc though a heavy burden weighs him down. This place, all these people—it’s too much. An overwhelming impulse to get the hell out of there rushes over him and he longs to hide, to flee to a place he won’t be recognized. _But where the hell can I go?_

_Don’t you leave me, Bucky Barnes,_ Zaara grips his arm tighter. Though she could quell his anxiety by forcing him to calm down, she decides to let him carry it on his own, as a normal person would.  _It’ll be alright. You can do this. Everyone’s leaving and soon we’ll be in my suite. Just the three of us, til the kids get back. Okay?_

_Whatever you say, doll._ Desolation clouds his mind.

 

_We’re gonna deal with these feelings of yours, Bucky. Soon._

 

Just before the team exits the hangar, Storm invites them to join her in the dining hall for dinner. Clint and Scott won’t be staying long since they have families to return to, but Wanda will likely remain as a permanent ‘guest’ while Sam, well, Zaara’s not so sure about Sam. _We’ll have to talk about Sam later,_ Zaara exchanges knowing glances with Betsy. The woman otherwise known as Psylocke huddles closer to her boyfriend and nods.

 

_Yes. We’ll have to do that. And we’d better take another look at Sergeant Barnes, too._

_Sure thing. Let’s do it tomorrow. I appreciate your help, Betsy._

_Think nothing of it. It’s good to have you back._

 

The crowd disperses until only Storm and Rogue remain. The former turns to the trio and notices, with amusement, that they are still standing on the gang plank. “Well, aren’t you going to come down?”

 

Zaara laughs. She finally releases Bucky’s hand and runs to her friends, giving each of them a fond embrace. Rogue nearly has the breath knocked out of her. “God, I’ve missed you both.”

 

“We missed you, too,” Rogue laughs, keeping one eye on the two supersoldiers who remain standing on the gangplank, as if unwilling to leave the Blackbird. “Won’t you introduce us--again?”

 

“Sure,” Zaara grins, not quite ready to take her eyes off them. It’s been weeks. “Steve and Bucky, these are my friends: Storm, also known as Ororo, and Rogue. Also known as Marie.”

 

“It’s just Rogue,” Rogue smiles coyly, eyes twinkling at Bucky from behind long, brown eyelashes.

 

“Rogue, Storm,” Steve finally comes down the gangplank. “It’s good to finally meet you. I’m Steve. And, uh, I want to express my thanks for the Blackbird and for letting Zaara help us out all these weeks. It’s been . . .” he pauses, not quite knowing what to say. _It’s been so much more than I ever could’ve asked for._ “Well, we couldn’t have done any of it without Zaara. We owe the X-men more than I can say.”

 

Storm’s smile grows wider. “We’re glad to help, Captain. We’ve realized for a while now that we need to make ourselves known to the Avengers. The time is ripe. We owe _you_ a great deal, too.”

 

Rogue nods reverently, rather in awe of meeting Captain America. “She’s right, Captain. We really do.”

 

“Please. Call me Steve,” he smiles back, glancing at Zaara. She’s blushing, for some reason. He can’t figure out why.

 

Bucky finally plods down the gangplank. “No. We owe _you_ everything.”

 

“Bucky Barnes, this is Storm and Rogue,” Zaara says quietly.

 

“Nice to meet you, Bucky,” Rogue offers him a dainty, gloved hand.

 

“It’s my pleasure, ma’am,” Bucky replies softly and kisses it. But he’s getting overwhelmed again. _All these people letting me in their home. Everything Zaara’s done for me. I can’t. It’s too much. I don’t deserve it._

_Yes, you do, Bucky,_ Zaara interrupts his train of thought. She throws an arm around his waist and squeezes tight. “It’s a big adjustment for him. For all of them. But it’ll be alright. They just need time.”

 

“I know you do, honey,” Rogue nods, and her southern accent comes through thickly now. “Take all the time you need. When you’re ready, we’ll be here for you.”

 

Even Storm relaxes her bearing enough to give him an encouraging smile.

 

Bucky’s throat clamps up. To have three beautiful women look at him this way, such tenderness in their eyes, leaves him lost. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. The old Bucky Barnes would have been pleased as punch, probably asked them all out on a date, taken them for a swing on the dance floor. But the former Winter Soldier is rendered mute and longing to run for cover.

 

“Come on,” Zaara finally puts an end to the awkwardness. “I’m sure Storm and Steve can talk shop later.”

 

“All in good time,” Storm agrees.

 

“Well, then,” Rogue winks at Zaara. “I’m gonna let ya’ll get settled in. Looks like you gentlemen could use some quiet. This place sure gets packed at times. Hope ya like what I did with the suite, darlin’.”

 

“You’re the best, Marie,” Zaara shakes her head. “I mean, Rogue.” Rogue gives her another quick hug and makes her own way out.

 

Unfortunately, the lengthy subterranean halls that compose the X-men’s headquarters do not bring Bucky any comfort. Though admittedly cleaner and brighter than any Hydra facility, the stark, sterile, and utilitarian décor conjures up some very bad memories. Zaara quickens the pace and Steve awkwardly speeds up, lugging several bulky bags and suitcases behind him. Zaara tells him that Pete planned on bringing them up later, but Steve doesn’t care.

 

“It’s too much, Steve. Let me do it,” she insists. The bags start to rise into the air, but he won’t let them go; it’s almost a matter of pride. He frowns, remembering what she said once about keeping her powers in reserve for emergencies.

 

“Nah. Lemme take some, doll,” Bucky murmurs, squeezing her hand until she releases the luggage from her hold.

 

Zaara shakes her head. “That arm from Wakanda wasn’t designed to lift heavy objects.” He sighs and claims four of the bags quite effortlessly with his flesh arm. Steve grins in spite of himself. "Alright,” she grumbles. “If carrying luggage makes you feel better, then who am I to stop you?”

“A man needs to feel useful, doll,” Bucky cocks an eyebrow.

 

“Ain’t that the truth,” Steve murmurs below his breath.

 

Storm chuckles. “We haven’t really had any men around here in a long time, so apologies, gentlemen. We’ve gotten used to doing things on our own.” She gives Zaara a knowing glance.

 

The men nod silently and stare at her, too.

 

She blushes for a second time.

 

“So you said you had something to tell me about our friend in Wakanda?” Storm asks abruptly, changing the subject.

 

“Let’s talk about it later,” Zaara deliberately narrows her eyes at the two supersoldiers.

 

Bucky immediately reads her expression, but addresses his words to Storm. “Aw sugar, you don’t wanna date that knucklehead,” he implores, surprised to find himself pleading with her. It lightens his heart somehow.

 

Storm suppresses another smile. No one has ever called her sugar before. “And why not, Sergeant Barnes?”

 

“You deserve better,” he proclaims with great conviction, raising his eyebrows emphatically.

 

“Better than a king?” Storm asks, biting her lip because she has not spent much time around men lately and Sergeant Barnes is too cute for his own good. She has to hold herself in check, though Zaara wears an amused grin. It’s been a very long day, after all.

 

“Yeah, sweetheart. Better than a king,” Bucky nods truthfully. “He didn’t treat our girl so well. And you ladies only deserve the best.”

 

The elevator doors open abruptly and Steve swallows with relief since his cheeks have turned an intense shade of red. He’s never been very comfortable discussing other people’s personal lives and, though he doesn’t like to admit it, he does feel some loyalty to T’Challa. The man got them out of Siberia, put them up in a palace, sheltered Bucky, and helped them break out the Raft. They owe him, though he can never forget what he did to Zaara.

 

Zaara only sighs. “He’s a real jerkball. I should let _him_ explain it to you. You might enjoy watching him squirm.”

 

“Oh?” Storm is taken aback. She knew it might be bad, but not _that_ bad. T’Challa was not actually a boyfriend—not quite. Certainly, he had gone to considerable lengths to woo her long before his father’s demise. Ever since she became leader of the X-men, she realizes. A sudden suspicion gnaws at her gut.

 

“No, it’s not that,” Zaara shakes her head, reading her thoughts without meaning to. “He really does like you, Ororo. He’s smitten—don’t worry about that part. But it doesn’t change the fact he’s still a jerk. We’re gonna need a lot of ice cream—but we should talk about boys later, given the present company.” She glances furtively at Steve, who blushes even harder.

 

“Aw,” Bucky groans, feeling something like his old self again. “But I _love_ eating ice cream and talking about boys.”

 

Zaara and Storm burst out giggling.

 

Steve shrinks with embarrassment.

 

“Well, maybe I’ll invite you after all, Sergeant Barnes,” Storm declares with a flirtatious wink. Bucky puffs up just a bit, like he’s his old self again.

 

“Don’t encourage him, Ororo,” Zaara rolls her eyes.

 

“You three get settled in,” Storm tosses her hair and heads down a most sumptuous looking hallway. “I’ll see you at dinner. Glad to have you back.”

 

“Glad to be back,” Zaara replies fondly, watching her go. Storm is purposefully giving her time alone with her boys. After all her years of wrangling in new students, the leader of the X-men knows when to back away and let Zaara do her job. New guests don’t usually like being bombarded by visitors and, given how similar Barnes’ case is to Logan’s, Storm plans on seeing him only in small doses until he feels more at home.

 

Steve and Bucky take a long look up and down the expansive hallway and feel like they are in a dream. They knew the school was housed in some sort of mansion, but the vastness of this stately manor drives the point home in a most visceral way. Stain glass windows, tropical plants in antique flower pots, mahogany wood panels, oriental rugs, and iron chandeliers generate the aura of a medieval castle. Despite the decidedly gothic sensibility, the place has warmth, charm, and vitality. Indeed, their supersoldier ears catch the sound of children talking and laughing not far off. A few appear down the end of one hallway, but Zaara leads them in the opposite direction until they come to an enormous atrium. Their gaze travels upwards to an ornate stain-glass window which crowns an equally impressive oak door and both realize this must be the main entrance to the school. High above, a small balcony overlooks it all, its doors tightly shut.

 

“That’s mine,” Zaara nods up at it. “Can’t use it, though. Have to keep it locked because of the children.”

 

“I’ll bet,” Steve blinks, suddenly gazing at it with new eyes. In Wakanda, they never had to worry since guards were stationed around every corner of the palace. The X-mansion doesn’t seem to have any such patrols or security measures visible to the naked eye so if the children run off, it is more of a concern. _Especially with balconies around,_ he notes.

 

Bucky only moves closer to Zaara, realizing that this is really going to be their home for the foreseeable future. He wants to feel comfortable here, he really does. _I’ve already lived in a palace. Now, I get to live in a castle. Not bad for a boy from Brooklyn._

Zaara looks at him and smiles. A sudden ache throbs in her heart and compels her to hug him yet again. “Welcome home, Bucky. I’ll give you the full tour as soon as we get settled in.”

 

“Don’t know if I’ll ever get settled in,” he replies sadly. _You’re the only home I got, sweetheart. Just you and Steve, and those kids._

 

“It’ll be alright, Buck,” Steve murmurs, dropping some of the bags and squeezing his shoulder.

 

“Aw, quit it, you two,” Bucky protests. “Enough.”

 

“Well, then,” Zaara huffs impatiently. “I don’t wanna stand around in the hallway all day. Let’s go.” She leads them up the wide, curving staircase swathed in a red velvet carpet and both men cannot help but imagine sliding down its impressive mahogany bannister. “Yeah, Ellie and Henry have done it,” Zaara admits, reading Bucky’s thoughts. “You’re going to have to keep on them about it—sliding down the bannister is strictly forbidden.”

 

“Uh,” Steve coughs, feeling like a bull in a china shop. The X-mansion is so elegant and luxurious, it is difficult to imagine calling it home. But he has to admit, the idea of sliding down the bannister is truly tempting. Who could resist? The curvy rail is wide enough to accommodate an adult quite comfortably. _Besides, there’s something about this place, almost as if we could make a life here—even if it is a castle._ “So, how does it work? Do you follow the kids everywhere, all of the time?”

 

Zaara smiles, pleased by his thinking. _Just like a parent._ She keeps climbing stairs. “The children know they aren’t allowed out alone. The Professor had most of the mansion child-proofed, but there’s only so much he could do since it’s so large. Children under eight can’t really be allowed the run of the place, so Ellie and Henry need to have an adult with them whenever they leave the suite. Someone has to be responsible. Luckily, we have lots of babysitters around here.”

 

Steve nods, pleased to hear it. To his surprise, he notices that Ellie and Henry are never far from his thoughts. Even during the breakout on the Raft, or when he was taking care of their mother on the Blackbird, his thoughts always returned to them. When they left with those two young men earlier, it was all he could do not to ask who the hell they were and where the hell they were taking his kids. _My kids?_ _What was I thinking? They’re not mine--even if it feels like they are._ And now, he will finally get to see where they live—their permanent home. When he reaches the top of the stairs, he gasps at how it opens up to another gorgeous hallway and a series of tall doors.

 

“Our place is right up here. The Professor was very generous and had his mother’s old suite renovated for us when I was pregnant with Ellie. He even added the cluster of rooms next to it. It’s like a separate apartment within the mansion. This is ours,” Zaara gestures at a door. “Actually, they’re all ours. We also have a basement, so there’s another door out to the garden in back.”

 

The men nod silently and behold the elegant oak door crowned by a series of small stain glass windows.

 

“Welcome home,” she says and flings it open wide.

 

The men have the strangest feeling. _Like I oughta carry her over the threshold,_ they both think at the same time. It makes her giggle, to read it in Bucky’s mind.

 

Zaara’s suite, formerly home to Mrs. Xaviar, opens to a spacious parlour in an unusual but graceful oval shape. A crystal Maria Theresa chandelier marks the center of the room and is offset by delicate crown molding. The décor is tastefully appointed with Queen Annes’ style furniture—understated though somewhat formal without being stuffy. Indeed, Zaara had been quite dismayed when the Professor insisted on only the best. She felt it a waste what with the dirty and chaotic habits of children though, so far, the furniture and fixtures have remained intact, albeit with a few stains and scribbles here and there. These, however, only lend the space a homier feel.

 

“You can put the bags down, Steve,” she says, biting her lip at the way his jaw falls open.

 

“It’s, uh, lovely,” he murmurs, dumbfounded. His hands gingerly release the bags and they fall to the floor with a soft thud. _Holy mackeral._

 

Bucky, who has already dropped his bags, grabs her hand and squeezes it tight. Too tight.

 

“Ouch, Bucky,” she admonishes him gently.

 

“Oh, sorry about that, doll,” he quickly apologizes, overcome by the beauty of the space. Floor to ceiling French windows grant the room abundant light and an incredible view of the grounds with the many tall trees and lush gardens. “This is, uh, more beautiful than I ever coulda imagined.”

 

“Glad you like it, Bucky,” she whispers, recalling the poverty she has visited in his mind and Steve’s. _Must be a shock to their system, all this luxury. Even after Wakanda._ “Thought you two got used to living in a palace, though.”

 

“Nah, not really,” Bucky admits, his eyes zeroing in on her. _But I’d rather look at you than all this fancy stuff, sweetheart._

 

“From living in a palace to living in a castle,” Steve muses. “Who’d have thought?”

 

“It does have a turret,” she grins. “So, yes, it’s technically a castle. There’s no other place like it on the continent. We’re very lucky.” Leading Bucky to the couch, she sits down close beside him and puts her arm around him. “So, we have lots of stuff to do, people to see,” she murmurs, holding him close. Her touch relaxes him, as it always does. “But I don’t want to rush you.”

 

“It’s alright, doll,” he says, putting on a brave face. Her touch gives him that same peculiar sensation—as if she’s the only thing between him and the darkness.

 

“Well, do you want anything to drink? Or shall I start the tour before Pete and Bobby get back with the kids?” Zaara remains chipper, her words stepping carefully around the somberness in his mind.

 

“Why not?” Bucky asks casually, glancing at Steve.

 

“Alright,” he agrees, though he hates leaving the bags sitting there. For once, the good Captain experiences no jealousy. The way Zaara looks after Bucky, well, he couldn’t ask for anything more. Bucky is safe and cared for and suddenly he has an odd feeling, an uncanny sense that he is in the right place at the right time and it gives him tremendous comfort, eases his natural inclination to be self-conscious in such a fancy place. _This is home--Zaara’s home. And at least, for now, it’s mine, too._

 

“Marie left it so nice for us. Wish it could stay like this,” Zaara observes mournfully, rising from the couch. “Don’t get used to it, fellas. It never stays this tidy. Well, you’ve had a good look at the parlour. Let’s move on. Follow me.”

 

“Marie?” Bucky asks, grateful to be have his mind on something besides himself. “You mean, Rogue?”

 

“She doesn’t like people to know her real name,” Zaara admits shyly. “She probably wouldn’t even like me telling you that much. I’ll try to keep calling her Rogue. It’s what most people call her.”

 

“Uh, sure, doll,” Bucky says, shrugging. _Wonder why she’d go by such a strange moniker? That little brunette is a real doll, even with those gray streaks in her hair—more of a Marie than a Rogue._

 

“By the way, when the kids get back, I’m peeling off this uniform and jumping in the shower,” she informs them, and Steve is struck by the image that immediately pops into his head. Zaara reads it and ignores it on purpose, tugging in annoyance at the heavy fabric that’s starting to make her sweat. “But since it’s your first time here, we’d better get the tour over with.”

 

She starts with the bedrooms. All three match the décor in the parlour and seem spacious and tranquil. The two smaller rooms belong to the kids. They are cheerful, colourful, and perfect representatives of their occupants’ personalities. Ellie’s room has pink silk curtains, girlish bedding with lots of ruffles, and all sorts of toys and books while Henry’s has blue and white stripes on the walls and dozens of dinosaurs and sharks. Steve shakes his head. _And we haven’t even unpacked the toys from Wakanda yet._ Zaara has a king size bed and a private bath with pentagonal tiles and an old-fashioned claw-footed tub. Her room is decorated mostly in white with sheer curtains and French doors that open to another private balcony which remain, for the most part, locked. She makes an exception for Steve and Bucky, however, and leads them out to the lovely sitting area that boasts a wrought iron table and cushy chairs. A breeze is blowing and the men find themselves longing to sit outside a while.

 

“We can have dinner out here sometimes, if you like,” Zaara says softly while they look out over the grounds. “But I was hoping we could join everyone tonight in the dining hall. I have my own kitchen, but my table’s not that big. We can always sit out here after the kids go to bed. The sky’s pretty clear so we should be able to see the stars tonight.”

 

Bucky gazes upwards, as if he wishes to see them this very moment.

 

“Sunset’s in three hours,” Steve offers, but Bucky only turns his gaze back to Zaara.

 

“You know, I don’t get to use this balcony very often,” Zaara muses. “I’m really lucky to have it. You two remind me of that.”

 

Steve smiles at her. _I’d rather be looking at you than the view, doll._

 

After a while, they make their way to the galley kitchen and the charming alcove that serves as a dining room. Steve makes a point of finding out where she keeps the pancake mix. Zaara explains they try to eat most of their meals here, but occasionally join the students and faculty in the dining hall. “Whenever I’m too tired to cook,” she explains in a guilty voice, though Steve and Bucky exchange glances, thinking she ought not to feel that way. The kids can be a real handful at times.

 

Finally, they reach the guest room near the back of the suite but the bed is only a queen, to their chagrin. Huffing at himself, Steve marvels at how spoiled he has become. After their massive bed in Wakanda, the two of them will have to get cozy now. Thick black and white stripes cover the walls, but the rest of the décor is primarily white with an occasional black accent including what appears to be an ancient iron chandelier. Zaara explains it’s an antique that once belonged to the Professor’s father. The men are pleased with their new quarters, even if the bed will feel more cramped than the monstrosity they shared in Wakanda. Still, there is ample space to accommodate a large wingback armchair with a matching ottoman, tall shelves filled with numerous books, and a towering mahogany dresser and armoire. It all makes Steve want to curl up for a good read.

 

“Now for the fun part,” Zaara suddenly grins. She leads them past a full bathroom (she has her own private bath in her master suite) and a corner room that serves as her office. “The secret door.” The undersized door is hidden in the back of her office and leads to a winding flight of stairs that feel like a tall, narrow tower. “The man who built this castle made secret hallways—most of them for servants,” Zaara explains. “But this one was built for his mistress long before the Xaviars bought the place.”

 

“His mistress?” Bucky asks, incredulous. “So close to the wife’s suite?”

 

“Yup,” Zaara nods while Steve blushes. _He’s so old fashioned._ “But remember—these rooms weren’t part of the original suite. The Professor wanted us to have a private apartment so we could live like a family. So, we have access to the extra bedrooms and the, uh, secret stairway.”

 

“What’s at the bottom?” asks Steve.

 

“You’ll see,” she grins, leading the way. When they reach the bottom, she opens the door with a dramatic flourish. “Well, it’s basically just a rec room. With laundry. And a half-bath. That’s about it,” she shrugs before swinging open the door to the outside. The men gasp. A lavish garden greets them. Vines, blossoms, and thick green shrubs curve about in a windy, circular motif with some very fancy lawn furniture sensitively placed to accentuate the flora and fauna. “We love it here. The Professor had a section fenced off so the children could run out and play whenever they like. There’s a sandbox over that way with some swings and a jungle gym.”

 

“He really put a lot of thought into it,” Steve agrees, unable to stop himself from turning around in circles, trying to take all the beauty in at once. “Seems perfect for them.”

 

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Except when Henry uses the chaise as a trampoline because I won’t buy him one.”

 

“What’s with the Professor, doll?” Bucky asks. He really has no hang-ups about prying into her personal life. She’s seen everything about _him_ , after all.

 

She swallows, the pain of missing the Professor suddenly overwhelming her. _This place does that to me sometimes._ “He was like a father to me.”

 

“I can tell,” Steve says softly. She looks so vulnerable it makes him long to take her in his arms and hold her the way he did on the Blackbird.

 

“You miss him,” Bucky observes, wrapping his arm around her and Steve sighs. _At least Bucky can help her feel better._

 

“I do,” she admits and quickly shakes it off. “Well, the kids should be back soon. Maybe I can give you a tour of the rest of the house once they go to bed. Otherwise, it’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

 

When they go back inside, Bucky finds himself yearning for their old life in Wakanda. It worked so well. Life here seems chaotic. There’s talking in the hallways (he can hear it from afar), children running around all over the place, and Zaara will have frequent visitors knocking on her door. At the palace, they had been mostly left alone. When they go back upstairs, he catches a glimpse of her schedule hanging on the wall of her office. With his supersoldier vision, he reads the many scribbles on the calendar. Each and every day of the week is marked with curious acronyms _._ Over the course of the month, they form a repetitive pattern. Her weeks are absolutely stacked with individual as well as recurring appointments, and other events he can’t even decipher. _She’s definitely a busy woman,_ he notes ruefully and not without some jealousy.

 

 _You’re right. I am,_ she nods just before flipping over the page since the calendar is two months behind. “We just got home. But don’t worry, Bucky--I’m not diving back into everything right away. You’re my priority for now, along with the children, of course. That’s the way it’s always been. But I do have some things I need to get done, especially after Betsy and Alex go home to Seattle.”

 

“Tell us more,” Steve says from his perch on the couch, trying to relax despite the stiffness of his uniform. It’s a lovely sitting room, but Zaara is always of far more interest than the décor, even if he can’t wait to get out of his X-men suit.

 

“Well, the Professor and I always looked after the new mutants,” she begins carefully. “The ones with special needs, the ones who can’t live in the mansion and all that.”

 

“The ones who can’t live in the mansion?” Steve asks, confused. “There’ve gotta be enough rooms here to fit a platoon.”

 

“Yes, and there are several cottages scattered across the property, too,” she explains. “Sometimes, one or two of the kids have powers that make them too dangerous to be around others. And some just crave the solitude. I help them adjust or cope with whatever it is they have to deal with—whether it’s emotional baggage or keeping their powers in check. But right now, I just have you, Bucky.” She stops and thinks for a minute, glancing up at Steve. “I could also work with Wanda, if she likes. I won’t force it on her. But she maybe she could use some help adjusting.”

 

“Is Wanda a mutant?” Steve asks trepidatiously. He doesn’t know why the idea should make him nervous. Zaara is a mutant, after all. But he’s been working with Wanda for a long time now and thought he knew nearly everything about her.

 

Zaara smiles. “She sure is. Mutant and mutate, both. She has to come to terms with it. That rock didn’t create her. Her mutation was what allowed her, and her brother, to survive Strucker’s experiments. I suspect the power of the stone augmented what was already there, made her a class four or five when she would have only been a two or three.”

 

Steve considers it.

 

“We have lots of time to figure it out, if that’s what Wanda wants,” Zaara explains. “But Bucky is my priority. He’s still vulnerable. I’m going to get my telepathic team to help me clear those words from his mind. We’ve quite got a ways to go, but I want to give him use of the grounds, so . . .”

 

“So when am I gonna get the tether back, doll?” Bucky asks longingly. Though Zaara re-connected with him on the Blackbird, she has yet to fully tether him and he knows it.

 

She smiles, tickled by his yearning. _I’d better not take it too seriously, him pining like a lovesick puppy._ “Well, soon. But it’ll be looser than it was in Wakanda. I want you to have access to the grounds so you can be away from me sometimes. I still have work to do. And it might be wise to assign you a job here at the school.”

 

“A job? Around all these kids?” he sounds incredulous.

 

“Yes,” she laughs. “There’s plenty to do. My other supersoldier used to feel better when we put him to work. Sometimes he’d patrol the grounds, like a security guard. For a while, he liked working in the stables.”

 

“Stables?” Bucky asks, dumbfounded.

 

“Yes, we have a stable,” Zaara nods. “With about twenty horses or so. It’s lots of work and the kids help out. But we could use a stablehand or two to pick up the slack. It would give me peace of mind to have an adult down there more often.”

 

Remembering the months he trained in the cavalry, Steve nods eagerly. _Been a long time since I’ve been around a horse._ And though he can hardly admit it to himself, he’d do anything to please her.

 

“Some people find it therapeutic to work with horses,” Zaara continues, staring hard at Bucky. “You need to find things that make you feel good, apart from our tether.”

 

“Sorry about that, doll,” Bucky bows his head in shame. _I’m putting too much on her._

 

“Don’t be,” she smiles compassionately. “We can take our time; there’s no hurry. This is _home_. I want you to feel like it’s _your_ home. It can be, you know, if you let it. The Professor’s dream was to build a place where mutants and mutates can feel welcome—a place where they can live, work, get an education, lead productive lives. That’s all I want for you.”

 

Steve swallows and finds himself wishing Zaara had directed the speech to _him_ somehow, even if her eyes never left Bucky.

 

“Got too used to feeling good most of the time,” Bucky still doesn’t lift his gaze from the floor. “This place . . . it’s hard for me.”

 

“I know,” she acknowledges quietly. “Steve should know, too. May I tell him?”

 

“Tell me what?” Steve asks, eyeing both of them nervously.

 

Bucky gives his silent permission.

 

“After we landed the Blackbird, he had an urge to run away. When he saw everyone waiting there in the hangar he felt, well, he felt like he was under scrutiny. And he didn’t measure up. He wanted to live the way he did back in Bucharest—alone, hidden, with no one else. He wanted it _very_ badly,” Zaara directs her words to Steve, compelled to keep him in the know.

 

Bucky drops his head in shame.

 

“Buck—after all I’ve been through to get you back?” Steve can’t help his voice. It crackles with pain.

 

“Still not sure I’m worth all this, Steve,” Bucky admits, tired of hiding the truth. “And the only thing that feels good to me, the only thing keepin’ me around right now—is her.”

 

His words strike like a knife into Steve’s heart and is forced to swallow back tears.

 

“That’s his fear talking, Steve,” Zaara trembles as well and she has to stop herself from embracing the forlorn Captain. She, too, remembers their closeness on Blackbird, the way he held her. It felt so good to be in his arms—too good. “It’s not the whole story. With everything you’ve done for him, I _know_ he’d have done the same for you. I told you he’d have trouble adjusting, remember? He’s strong—really strong. He could handle it on his own. But he doesn’t have to.”

 

Bucky swallows.

 

“I’m not giving you up, Buck,” Steve whispers.

 

“No,” Bucky agrees, hating to see what he’s done to Steve. “‘Til the end of the line.”

 

Steve’s eyes moisten and, with an impatient hand, he swiftly wipes away the tears that fail to fall.

 

Zaara regards him tenderly. “It’s just difficult right now. We knew it would be. But this is only the beginning. It’ll get better. I promise.” She waits a moment and, before she can stop herself, takes a seat close beside him. “Trust me.”

 

Steve bows his head as her hand slides on top of his own. When her skin touches his, he feels an incredible jolt. Gratitude and desire melt his heart, but Zaara’s eyes are on Bucky. “And you _will_ feel good again, Bucky. Without me. I promise. Just be patient. I . . .” she sighs. “I just don’t want your ability to feel good to depend on me forever because that’s not exactly healthy.”

 

“I disagree, doll,” Bucky finally meets her gaze, eyes twinkling. It does something to him whenever she touches Steve. Their closeness, the electricity between them, transports his mind to another place and he is struck by the way they are with one another. “You’re a very _healthy_ woman to be around.”

 

She blushes and shakes her head. “Quit flirting with me, Bucky Barnes.”

 

He stares at her harder. _You know how I feel about you._

_And you know how I feel about you. Now stop it. You’re making me blush._

_You’re only blushing because you feel it, too._

 

“Just let me do my job, Bucky,” she sighs. _Don’t be silly._

_Alright, doll. You win. You know I’m not exactly comfortable living in a castle._

 

_I know. We’ll work on it. We’ll find a way._

_Keep me close, will ya? I like bein’ on a short leash._

_Alright. For now, anyways._

 

_Yeah. Because tomorrow is another day._

_Don’t quote Gone With the Wind to me, Bucky or I’ll have to go Rhett Butler on you._

_Perish the thought, doll._

 

Steve, witnessing their silent exchange, decides it is time to put it all behind them, even if he hates it when Zaara release his hand. “So, when’s dinner?”

 

“Soon,” Zaara replies, glancing at the clock. Suddenly, Bobby and Pete are at the door, the children shrieking and running behind them. She rises. “Hey, boys. Thanks for wearing them out. Steve and Bucky, meet Pete and Bobby.”

 

“The children were no trouble at all, Mamochka,” a tall and imposing Pete laughs kindly. “It’s good to have you all back. It's an honour to meet you, Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes.”

 

“It sure is,” Bobby agrees earnestly, geeking out like a true fanboy. “Really an honour. I, I hope you’ll consider working with us during your stay, Captain.”

 

“Working with you?” Steve asks, his feelings of jealousy suddenly eclipsed by curiosity.

 

“The boys are dying to have you run some training sessions with them. Drills, scrimmages, all that stuff. Avengers-style,” Zaara explains. “The Professor was a military man and believed in teaching mutants how to defend themselves, both with and without their powers.”

 

Bucky wrinkles his brow.

 

“And—your powers?” Steve cannot resist asking the two young men.

 

“Uh, ice,” Bobby explains, producing a sparkling ball of frost in the palm of his hand. Suddenly his entire body transforms into a crystalline sculpture and Steve shivers from the sharp chill in the air.

                                                                                                                              

Pete looks to Zaara for her approval. She gives him a slight nod so he transforms himself into the massive, metallic body of Colossus, towering over everyone in the room. Steve and Bucky drop their jaws in awe.

 

“No wonder I couldn’t fit that uniform,” Steve murmurs to himself.

 

“Otherwise known as Ice Man and Colossus,” Zaara smiles sweetly. “They’ve been my students since they came to the school seven years ago. All grown up, now, though it’s hard for me to stop thinking of them as my boys.”

 

If they could see their faces in human form, Bucky figures they’d be blushing. Even so, the two mutants quickly shift back to their original selves.

 

“Well, it’s good to meet you both. Like the suit, by the way,” Bobby grins at Bucky.

 

“Captain. Sergeant,” Pete nods respectfully and has to resist saluting them.

 

“See you tonight,” Steve replies, trying to keep his composure as Zaara’s “boys” leave.

 

The children have already scampered into their rooms and are busy tearing them apart. But in a flash, Ellie returns to Bucky and curls into his arms. “Bucky, you feel bad,” she observes innocently, offering him childlike sympathy.

 

“Yeah, princess,” Bucky nods, cupping her head in his hand. _Her hair is always so damn soft._ He presses his lips into her silky locks. “It’s nothing for you to worry about. I’ll be alright.”

 

Ellie only squeezes him harder. “You’ll love it here, Bucky. I promise. And if you get scared, you can sleep in my room.” Suddenly, with the carelessness only the very young can have, she leaps from his arms and runs away, tearing apart in her wake all that had been tidy and orderly.

 

“Scared?” Steve asks, incredulous.

 

“It’s hard for him,” Zaara explains. “He still doesn’t feel like he belongs here, that he deserves to be with us.” Her eyes are accusing. “Tell him how wrong he is, Steve.”

 

“Or course that’s wrong, Buck,” Steve blinks, finally understanding. _Hell, I’d feel the same way if I were in his shoes. It’s bad enough what happened with the Avengers; I caused so much trouble it’s a wonder I’m welcome here at all._ “You’re a good man. You served your country. None of what happened was your fault.”

 

“But I did it,” he counters, bringing Steve right back to their conversation on the Quinjet.

 

“Alright, that’s enough,” Zaara says softly, gently pulling him back onto the sofa. “You have all the time in the world. We’re not going anywhere. But I hope you can join us for dinner tonight. Do you think you’re up for it?”

 

“Dunno,” he mumbles, staring at the floor again.

 

“Okay,” she whispers. “I’ll stay here with you, if you like.”

 

“So will I,” Steve asserts, unwilling to abandon Bucky even if only for a meal.

 

“No,” Zaara protests. “You’re the leader of the Avengers. You have to go.”

 

“Not anymore,” Steve demurs.

 

“Well, I forgot about all that. You  _are_ in a pickle,” Zaara admits. “We’ll have to figure something out.”

 

“What can you do?” Bucky asks. “Last time the Avengers got together, it was an all-out brawl.”

 

“The world is a safer place with the Avengers united,” Zaara says firmly. “Storm and I discussed it already.”

 

“You discussed the Avengers with Storm?” Steve is taken aback, as if she has tread on his territory.

 

“Of course we did!” Zaara snorts. “And she’s ready to help you bring the group back together. We’ve faced enough threats to the world. Now that the X-men are ready to reach out, you Avengers better pull up your socks.”

 

“And how do we do that?” Steve demands to know. He finally did send that letter to Tony, but it feels like slapping a tiny bandaid on top of a huge, gaping wound.

 

“Colonal Rhodes is our in,” Zaara announces with confidence. Storm gave her the idea.

 

“Rhodie?” Steve sputters in surprise. “He’s probably the last one to forgive me.”

 

“I can do something for him,” Zaara says earnestly. “It might help him change his mind.”

 

“Oh, and what’s that?” Steve asks nervously. He’s already seen enough of Zaara’s powers to realize it must be something big. “You don’t mean—“

 

“I do,” she smiles, guessing his intent since she can’t read his mind. “I can heal.”

 

“You can _heal_?” Bucky says in shock. _Doll?_

 

“Yes, I can heal,” she answers humbly. “It’s not perfect, but I can make a difference. It works best on you supersoldier types, of course. Your cells are incredibly responsive. But even with ordinary humans, I can do quite a bit. I was working on the Professor, even managed to repair a bit of his spinal cord before he  . . .  Before he was taken from us.”

 

Steve stays focused on Rhodie. “You can _heal_  Rhodie? He had a pretty bad fall.”

 

“Yes,” she nods. “Forge got the intel and Storm suggested it. But we can discuss it later. Now I need a shower. And a change of clothes.”

 

“You bet,” Steve agrees, flabbergasted by this new information. _Healing Rhodie—she always has some kind of trick up her sleeve. And I bet this is only the beginning._

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

The dinner goes well enough though Bucky sticks to Zaara’s side like white on rice, especially now that he’s tethered to her mind again. The hall is jammed with children and X-men, everyone talking and laughing. He’d prefer to remain inconspicuous but Zaara has so many friends and there’s a constant stream of people coming to talk to her so he forces himself to get used to it. The rest of the Avengers are delighted by the feast which of course beats the hell out of the food on the Raft. Storm makes a brief speech welcoming the Avengers to the X-mansion and instructs the students to treat their guests with kid gloves. Ellie and Henry have trouble sitting still, but everyone manages to have a good time, even with Steve sheepishly signing autographs for several starstruck mutant teenagers.

 

Bucky, for his part, remains firmly by Zaara’s side through it all, just as he did at the State Dinner in Wakanda. _How funny. She sure as hell doesn’t need my help this time,_ he reflects with regret. Zaara is truly in her element. She’s eating and talking to her friends one minute, and checking on Bucky and the children the next. Now and then she even manages to save a smile for Steve. It astonishes him that she takes the time at all, given all the demands on her attention. There’s a lot going on, almost too much, but she is thriving and glad to be home. Once again, Steve finds himself jealous of all the people who want something of her. _Just goes to show how much I want to keep her all to myself—even when I got no right. Just like she’s my girl . . . And Bucky’s,_ he notes ruefully.

 

Sam sits by his side and keeps a constant banter with Clint and Scott, always with one eye on Steve. He senses something’s up between Cap and Zaara; knew it ever since he saw them together on the Blackbird. _Hell, it was plain as day even on the Raft. He’s got it bad. I better watch out for him in a place like this with all these girls—he’s in way over his head._ Clint notices it, too, how Steve only has eyes for Zaara, but wisely stays out of it. After all, he’s heading home tomorrow night, along with Scott. Their visit here will be a short one and though they’re uncertain how they’ll make it home, they need to see their families. After all those weeks in the Raft, it’s been far too long.

 

Ellie and Henry are happier than ever. They run up and down the aisles of the dining hall no matter how many times they are told to sit down. As they greet each and every student, delighted to be back home, it strikes Steve how lucky they are to be growing up in a place like this. He has so much on his mind, though, that it is difficult to focus on any one thing. _All these mutants with amazing powers. The world doesn’t know about them and here they are, living in a mansion not far from the Avengers compound. What Secretary Ross would give to know about this . . ._

 

To her dismay, Zaara discovers she is scheduled to be on kitchen duty that night since she always partners up with Rogue. Though the mansion does employ staff, they keep outsiders to a minimum in an effort to ensure privacy. Storm urges her to take the night off but Zaara refuses, telling her she had a good, long nap on the Blackbird and is not tired at all. The men follow her to the kitchen since Bucky won’t be separated from her. The girls reassure them it’ll only take a half hour or so before they can retire back to the suite.

 

“Uh, Bucky,” Zaara begins, looking mildly embarrassed. Steve has finally left them, albeit reluctantly, to meet privately with Sam, Clint, and Scott. “Rogue and I have, well, we like to play music when we’re on KP. I hope you won’t mind.”

 

“Not at all,” he smirks in amusement. He is starting to feel better. _Happiness is a full belly,_ according to Bucky Barnes. _And so is watching girls dance._  Ideed, dancing is mostly what happens when Zaara and Rogue are on kitchen duty. Half the time is filled with work, the other half rocking out to a playlist of Rogue’s favourite pop songs. Though the tunes are unfamiliar to him, Bucky cannot help but grin at the silliness of it all, even though it gives him a smooth excuse to watch the girls dance. As he grabs a towel to help them dry, he finds himself singing along to a rather repetitive song about uptown funk, and wonders why anyone would ever sing about the Bronx.

                                                             

Steve, obliged to leave with Sam, Clint, and Scott who have been vying for his attention all evening, takes up Storm’s generous offer to use the Professor’s old office. Finally, they have some privacy.

 

“Hey, Cap,” Sam plants his hand upon Steve’s shoulder. “This joint sure beats the Raft, huh?”

 

“Yeah, sure does,” Steve admits.

 

Briefly, they take stock of the school and the existence of mutants, and ponder what to do about the splintering of the Avengers. The intense discussion gradually succumbs to mutual fatigue, of course, but not before Sam gives Steve a good smirk for staying in Zaara’s suite. Steve takes the gentle ribbing with his usual good grace, not ready to confess his feelings to his second-best friend. Clint, of course, is anxious to get back to his family and Scott is more than ready to see his daughter again. They spend a good deal of time strategizing about how to see Clint and Scott safely home, but Steve’s mind is never far from Zaara and, when they finally call it a night, he swiftly returns to the kitchen where he watches Bucky happily assist the girls.

 

Indeed, the former Winter Soldier is howling out some song about sugar and begging someone to pour it down on him while the girls dance circles around the kitchen. Fascinated, Steve watches. It gives him a strange feeling inside. The words in the song make him blush, especially when Bucky wails right along with the lead singer. It’s a repetitive song and easy to learn. When the music stops, he doesn’t hesitate to roll up his sleeves and dive right in.

 

“You know I used to do this for a living,” he scolds. “You really should leave some things to the professionals.”

 

The girls giggle and Rogue’s cheeks turn a bright shade of red. Zaara is used to his dismissive attitude, however, since he never allowed her to do any of the housework back in Wakanda. “You missed most of the party, Captain,” she admonishes him cheerfully. “We’ve only got a few pots and pans left. And we already loaded the dishwasher.”

 

“Dishwasher,” Steve says scornfully. “ _I’m_ the dishwasher.” He is being quite playful. It’s the end of the night, after all, and they are safe; no Hydra, no Zemo to worry about. Not even Secretary Ross can find them here. “A pair of hands always does it better.”

 

“Are you suggesting we risk dishpan hands?” Zaara says in mocking disbelief.

 

“No,” Steve disagrees vehemently. “Just let _me_ do it.”

 

“That’s Steve for ya,” Bucky pipes up. “Always a big bossypants in the kitchen. Hey, remember the time we went AWOL and Phillips made the Howlies scrub dishes for two days?”

 

Steve blushes deeply. _That was when I snuck off for a date with Agent Carter and you all covered for me. I’ll never live that down._ Rogue slaps the former Winter Soldier smartly on the ass with her dishtowel. “How dare you say such things about _Captain America!”_

 

“Uncle, I call uncle, sweetheart!” Bucky raises his hands in surrender and Zaara laughs because it is the most relaxed he’s been since they arrived. His face, so happy in the moment, makes her imagine a young Bucky Barnes and the way he must have looked before Hydra ever got a hold of him. _Rogue’s a good influence on him. And I’ve got to start playing music more often. It makes him feel young again._

 

Steve huffs and gets down to work.

 

“Well, how do you like that?” Rogue muses, tickled. “I got Captain America doin’ my dishes. I feel like a disgrace.”

 

“You shouldn’t,” Steve sounds concerned, but doesn’t stop working.

 

“Aw, save it,” Bucky smacks him on the ass with his wet dishtowel. “I’m tired.”

 

They laugh.

 

When Steve is finally done, they bid Rogue goodnight and head back up to the suite. Bobby and Pete bring the children up a little while later and wish them sweet dreams. Suddenly, the five of them are together again, re-living the same old bedtime routine as if they never left Wakanda.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Night comes.

 

After a very long day, it is a relief to have the children tucked into bed. Zaara flings open the doors to her balcony and the three of them watch the stars twinkle under the blanket of night. The air is cool, a typical spring evening in upstate New York and a long, peaceful silence wraps itself around them. The three of them wish they could stay out there forever.

 

Finally, Bucky poses a question. “What about our movie, doll?” Her skin glows softly in the moonlight and she has never been so lovely. Steve waits, holding his breath.

                                                                                                                                                                                   

She smiles. “Well, there’s a big theater in the east wing, but the only TV I have in the suite is in the guest room. _Your_ room.”

 

“Oh, yeah?” Bucky mumbles absently.

 

TV is a big treat in Zaara’s household, which is why she keeps it in the guestroom. Steve and Bucky hadn’t noticed it before since it is locked away in a huge armoire. “I’m a bit tired tonight guys, but we can watch something for a while—anything to help wind down and forget about that nasty old Raft. It’s good to be home, but it’s been rough day.”

 

“Sure thing, doll,” Bucky mumbles. When he returns to the guest room, he opens the wide doors of the armoire, a puzzled expression on his face. “How do you turn this thing on?”

 

“I got it,” Steve leaps up and quickly figures it out. Technology has really gotten easier for him since his days at Shield. “What’ll we watch?”

 

“Hmmm . . .” Zaara murmurs as she scrolls. They always let her do the searching. “I haven’t seen _Gone With the Wind_ in ages. I know it’s not a post-war movie, but Bucky got me thinking about it today. Would you fellas mind?”

 

“Nah, not at all,” Bucky cracks a grin, and she feels a sudden thrill in her heart because he’s so handsome when he smiles. It happens all too rarely. “We loved that one. Right, Steve?”

 

“That’d be great,” Steve agrees, but he seats himself at the foot of the bed. A queen bed is something of an awkward space for three to watch a movie. When Bucky yells at him to move out of the way, Steve makes for the wingback chair in the corner.

 

“You won’t be able to see so well from that angle,” Zaara says kindly. “There’s room up here, Steve. We’ll just have to get friendly, is all.”

 

With some hesitation, Steve climbs up next to them. The three of them sit in a row, Zaara in the middle, their bodies touching. It gets awfully cozy and suddenly she’s aware of their breathing, their large, muscular bodies practically looming over her own and she’s reminded of the night of the State Dinner. But this time, the memory is not so painful. This time, her senses bring her back to the way they huddled on either side of her, comforting her, protecting her, shielding her from the gaze of others and soothing her so tenderly, not unlike the way she has been quietly soothing Bucky’s mind all day long. (She tries not to let her mind wander back to how that night ended in the lagoon, the feel of their bodies brushing past hers in the water, the way Steve carried her back to their suite in the palace, and the dream she had about them afterwards. Those memories keep coming up, unbidden, so she shakes it off.)

 

The former Winter Soldier suddenly has another thought. “What about our popcorn?”

 

“Do you boys really want to be eating popcorn in your bed?” Zaara smirks.

 

“Uh, no. Guess not,” Steve admits. He himself is flush with feeling, his body smugly satisfied to have hers so close he can breathe in her scent without any effort at all. But he still musn’t touch her, no matter how badly he longs to. He knows he’s going to have to do something about these feelings. It’s beginning to be more than he can bear. But first, he resolves to learn more about her, solve the mystery of why she says she won’t date. _There’s got to be a reason for it, even if she doesn’t want to tell us; I’ve got to find out why. That’s the key._

 

Meanwhile, they sit so close to each other that Bucky unabashedly takes advantage of the opportunity to put his arm around her. She allows it and leans into his chest, letting herself get comfortable since Bucky, in this moment, feels more like a close friend than a patient. She knows the physical contact soothes him and, indeed, she anticipates him needing to spend the night in her bed. He’s having a difficult time of it, actually, even through all the fun and laughter. It’s a huge adjustment to live in the X-mansion, to be around all these people, to be expected to socialize, look them in the eye, participate in group activities _._ But her touch undoes him. Affection has been a rare commodity in his long, weary life. Who is this woman who gives it so freely?

 

_You do so much for me, doll._

_It’s alright, Bucky. You deserve it._

_No, I don’t._

She rolls her eyes. _Quit whining or I’m gonna start calling you Miss Scarlet._

 

Bucky chuckles. _Well if I’m Scarlet, you gotta be Melanie._

_Stop. Melanie is perfect and I’m no angel._

_You are to me._

 

Steve tears his eyes from the screen and glances over at them, a pang of envy hitting him to see her rest her cheek upon Bucky’s chest, his flesh arm curling around her shoulder. He watches as Bucky rubs it with his thumb. His best friend casts a knowing glance at him. _Eat your heart out, punk._ But once again, deep down, an unsettling truth strikes Bucky and he knows he’s not worthy of this woman who has taken him into her home and into her life, who has given him so much. _I don’t deserve her. I don’t deserve to be with those kids. What the hell am I? A ruined man. Damaged goods._

 

Zaara hits the pause button.

 

“You can do it, you know,” she says quietly.

 

“Do what?” Bucky asks, startled. Steve jerks up and stares at her, wide-eyed and waiting for an answer.

 

“Go back to Bucharest,” she gazes at him intensely. “Or, Budapest. Helsinki. Maybe Kiev? Find some crummy apartment in a bad part of town. Live alone. Spend your time thinking about memories. You’d get by. Work at the docks, earn enough to pay rent, buy groceries. Spend your nights at the bar, talking to no one. If that’s what you want.”

 

His face goes white as a sheet. “Doll . . .” his voice trembles.

 

“You’d be fine. No one could hurt you. They’d even stop searching for you.”

 

Her words form a concise compilation of his thoughts and it feels as if she’s stripping him naked. “Stop searching for me?” he repeats, dumbfounded.

 

“Yep,” she nods. “I’d erase you from their minds.”

 

“From whose minds?” Steve demands.

 

“Everyone’s,” she directs her gaze at him now, grim. “There’s a way. I planned on doing it anyways.”

 

“And when were you going to tell us about that?” he demands.

 

But she silences him with a look. _It doesn’t matter, Steve._ “The point is, you’d be alright, Bucky. You could have that life again. If you want it. It’s easy.”

 

Bucky blinks and stares down at the floor.

 

She speaks slowly. Carefully. “But I don’t think that’s really what you want.” She brings her hand to his cheek and turns him to face her though his eyes can hardly stand to meet hers, their translucent blue a clear, freshwater spring—open, vulnerable, unable to conceal what lies in their depths. Through them, she can see his anguish crystal clear. His heart pounds against her back, she can feel its relentless thrum, for he’s still holding her. She continues, her voice dropping lower. “You don’t need me. You’re a survivor. You can take care of yourself. But I think it’s harder to let someone else do it for a while.”

 

He swallows, unable to speak.

 

“So,” she continues, her voice barely above a whisper and Steve finds himself leaning in closer to catch every word. “You can go, once I finish taking those words out of your mind. Leave us. You’ll do just fine—if that’s what you want.”

 

A stillness hovers in the air while Steve awaits his answer in the darkness, for it will determine not only Bucky’s future, but his own. He won’t say it out loud—not yet. _Not alone. If you go back to Bucharest, I’m coming with you, Buck._ As if she hears his thoughts, Zaara turns to him and sees the anguish in his face, feel it pierce her own heart.

 

 _Of course Steve would go with him. They’d leave together. He’d never abandon Bucky. They’ll leave me and things will go back to the way they were._ And she is forced to swallow back tears now, forced to confront how fond she’s become of these two men, how she loves the way they are with her children, all the brightness they bring into her life. Even more discomfiting, she tries her best to ignore the secret quivers of desire that thrum deep down inside her as she sits squashed between their bodies, so close she can feel them breathe, so intimate she can imagine what it would be like to run her fingers over their broad chests. Stroking them, as she did in her dream in Wakanda.

 

“No.” Bucky’s lips form a distinct “oh” shape, holding it long after the word passes through them, the dark stubble peppering his jaw accentuating the sound as it falls from his mouth.

 

Her eyes meet Steve’s once again, a spark of cautious joy flashing between them. “No?” she repeats after him, incredulous, uncertain she heard him correctly. _Words are a choice. Thoughts come and go unbidden._ She waits to hear him say it out loud again.

 

“No. I don’t wanna leave,” he says firmly, the deep pools of his eyes suddenly brimming with certainty.

 

“It’ll be tougher to stay,” Steve finally speaks, his throat dry with emotion. “It ain’t gonna be easy, Buck. You sure you up for it?”

 

“Did you ever know me to run away from a fight?” Bucky snorts.

 

Steve permits himself a small, satisfied smile and heaves a sigh of relief. “No. You never did, pal.”

 

Bucky gives a grim chuckle. “You’d probably just track me down again, anyways.”

 

“Oh, no,” Zaara laughs. “I don’t think so.”

 

“She’s right,” Steve nods, and has to restrain himself from wrapping his arms around him, even with Zaara squashed between the two of them. “I’d have gone with you.”

 

“And two-bedrooms are expensive,” she adds wisely, with a light giggle. “Just think of what you’d have to pay every month.”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “Rents are skyrocketing in Bucharest.”

 

The three of them share a good laugh, relief flooding the room and Zaara caresses his cheek, his stubble tickling her fingertips. “Bucky, why don’t you put on your pajamas, brush your teeth, and go lie down in my bed?”

 

“Doll?” _I already feel bad, I asked too much of you tonight. You’ve done enough._

 

“Don’t argue with me; I just put Ellie and Henry down and I’m tired.”

 

“Alright,” he agrees softly, raising his hands in the air. “I surrender.”

 

“Good.” Zaara effectively rolls off the bed and leaves them, but Steve follows her. “What was that about?” he asks when she’s in the parlour.

 

“The school is triggering something in Bucky,” she says softly. “He feels so . . .  broken. Unlovable. He’s gotta get over it. He really needs to hear about some of the people who live here; then he won’t feel so alone. Maybe I’ll tell him about Marie,” she muses.

 

“If you’ll think it’ll help,” Steve agrees earnestly. But he pauses, trying to keep his voice calm and neutral. “Do you need me with you tonight?”

 

She swallows. _Just what I was afraid of._ “Well, it’ll make him feel better if you’re with us. Just like in Wakanda. I . . . I think it’s a good idea, if it’s alright with you,” she admits softly.

 

“Okay,” he replies just as softly. Silently, he leaves her and gets ready for bed.

 

Minutes later, the three of them are in Zaara’s room. Bucky is already lying in bed when she comes out of the bathroom, having just brushed her teeth. She climbs in beside him and puts her hand on his flesh arm, but does not lie down. “Do you know why I brought you to my room tonight?”

 

“Nah, doll,” he murmurs, his face hidden in his pillow.

 

“I don’t mean to treat you like Henry,” she says gently. “You’re not a child. You’re a grown man. I know you’re not helpless. I . . . I just don’t want you to believe what you’re telling yourself today because it’s _wrong_. You could not be more mistaken. Tomorrow, you can get to know some of the people who live in this house. And you’ll learn you’re not so different from them. And they _all_ belong here. All of them deserve a real home. All of them.”

 

“That’s kinda hard to believe, doll,” Bucky demurs. “I ain’t like them.”

 

“Look, they may not have been brainwashed by Hydra, or trained to be assassins, but some of them have very dangerous powers they can’t control. Powers that _have_ hurt people through no fault of their own,” she explains. “Is that so different from you? They live here because they _can’t_ live around ordinary people. It’s not safe. But that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve a good life.”

 

He sighs.

 

“Yeah,” she nods. “Look, it’s late. We’re all tired. We need rest. But I just want you to trust me. If Rogue deserves to be here, then so do you.”

 

“Rogue?” he asks, bewildered. “That sweet little girl?”

 

“That young woman,” she corrects him. “Has one of the most dangerous powers of anyone I know.”

 

Steve starts. _Like Wanda?_

 

“Her skin,” Zaara continues casually. “It can kill with a touch. She can’t control it, can’t stop it, can’t get rid of it. She can never live a normal life. She came here when she was fifteen. She kissed her first boyfriend and put him a coma. It lasted for weeks.”

 

Bucky sits up. “What?”

 

Steve gasps. 

 

“You heard me,” Zaara continues with dogged determination. “She felt the same way you do. It took years, but she’s made her peace. She’d give anything to have a normal life, but she’s made a good life here. That’s what this place is all about. It’s a home for all of us, and for you, too. If you want it."

 

Stunned by the plight of the girl called Rogue, Bucky can only shake his head. _Marie?_

 

“Besides,” Zaara is whispering now, stroking his arm. “This is not just about you. Your Ma, remember? I Thought I told you in Wakanda that I won’t abandon her son. She deserves better. You _belong_ with us, Bucky—don’t ever doubt it.” She pauses, noticing her own weariness. “So, what do you say we get some sleep?”

 

With a sigh of resignation, he lies his body down and nestles into the bed sheets. _I give up. I’m staying—for as long as you’ll have me._ “Sure thing, doll.”

 

She smiles, leans over him, and kisses his brow. “Goodnight, Bucky.”

 

“’Night, doll,” he whispers. “And—thanks.”

 

“Sweet dreams,” she whispers back, putting him into a deep sleep. When the deed is done, she curls up beside him and listens to him breath for a while. She does not stir until Steve climbs in next to her.

 

“Zaara,” Steve says, his voice weary. “Thanks for this.”

 

She smiles. “It’s alright, Steve. We’ll take good care of him. Try not to worry. We have a full day tomorrow.”

 

“What about a day of rest?” he asks, his voice full of meaning. _You’ve done too much. You need a break._

 

“Oh,” she answers, crestfallen. “You fellas can rest. I’ve gotta get back into the swing of things. You know, with the children and all.”

 

“Then we’ll help,” he replies stubbornly.

 

 _Just like Steve,_ she tells herself.

 

And suddenly they find themselves whispering to each other as if they are exchanging secrets—secrets about Bucky’s care, how they should proceed with his treatment, all the help Betsy might give (while she is still in town), and the triplets. The three girls, who are identical sisters and only fifteen years of age, share a peculiar telepathic talent and, like her girls in Wakanda, Zaara is training them. Steve realizes this must be only the tip of the iceberg. Zaara lives a busy life at the X-mansion. _And I’m gonna be part of it,_ he muses. _Bucky, too._

 

Turning over onto her opposite side, she finds herself face to face with him now. He chews on his lip since it is difficult to control the yearning he feels whenever he’s near her, the intensity of his longing. She sighs and it is all he can do not to put his mouth over hers and breath in that sweet scent. It still calls to him, tempts him like the moment he first saw her in Wakanda. He knows he signed up for this exquisite torture, dreamt of being in her bed on this, their first night in the X-mansion. But hell, it’s hard.

 

Some part of her realizes it, for she is constantly assailed by his longing for her. Sometimes she can read even more than that—sometimes she feels like he is the most lonely man she has ever known. Though part of her yearns to relieve him of the burden he carries, she focuses back on Bucky. _Always back to Bucky._ _It’s safer that way._ “It’s gonna be alright, Steve. We’ll look after him. Eight words left to go, and Betsy is a class four. We might be able to wipe away a few more before she heads home, if we’re lucky. And we might even take down that barrier in his head—remember the one I told you about?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, getting drowsier. It’s the first time he’s allowed himself to feel tired all day for, when he held her in his arms on the Blackbird, he had been on full alert. Unwilling to miss a second of his time alone with her, he refused himself rest and remained awake. It felt like being in some airy, sensual dream. Now he is back in her bed and it is all he can do not to reach over and wrap his arms around her again, pull her into his lap and plant his mouth on top of hers.

 

Too much for her, this closeness, this intimacy, so she yawns and closes her eyes. She’s reading him again, sensing his desire and it feels as if there’s no end to it. _I can’t tempt fate._ Quite deliberately, she rolls back over onto her other side and stretches out towards Bucky, but she knows it’s not enough. She can still sense Steve, feel his body breathing so close to hers. Yawning again, she sighs. “And, we can talk about Sam. There’s something you need to know.”

 

“What?” he asks, roused from his reverie as his protective instincts kick in. Captain America is nothing if not loyal to his team.

 

“Don’t worry,” she giggles softly. “It’s really not a big deal. But I shouldn’t talk about it without him here. Let’s meet him tomorrow. In private.”

 

“Alright,” he agrees, his sensual feelings clouding over, at least temporarily. Curiosity piques him. _What does she mean about Sam?_

 

“Try not to worry about it, Steve,” she smiles. “It really is OK. If you’re going to worry about anyone, it should be Bucky. He’s not doing as well as I’d hoped.”

 

He nods. “We’ll work on it. He’ll come around.”

 

“I’m sure you’re right,” she says, though she sounds a bit disappointed. “I guess I just assumed this place would make him feel like home.”

 

“There’s time,” Steve’s stoicism stubbornly takes over. “I didn’t destroy Hydra, fight off Zemo and the World Security Council, and put him in cryostasis to give up on him now.”

 

“You sure didn’t,” she smiles, drinking in his confidence. _He’s so strong. It always ends up making me feel stronger. How does he do that?_ She squeezes her eyes shut and wills herself to forget he’s right there beside her, to fall asleep as if nothing’s going on, as if she doesn’t feel the gentle touch of his breath where it caresses her back, a sensual experience that also leaves her feeling safe, warm, and somehow adored.

“Goodnight, Steve.”

 

He sighs, curling his arms around his pillow and clutching it close to his chest, wanting nothing more than to hold her again. Before he can stop himself, he speaks.

 

“Zaara.”

 

“Hmm?” she murmurs softly, on the brink of slumber.

 

“I need to tell you something. Please, just listen. You don’t have to say anything.”

 

“Okay,” she sounds uncertain.

 

“Just listen,” he insists quietly. “Don’t speak . . . I need you to know that if Bucky left, I would have to go with him. But I also want you to know that . . . I’d rather stay. I want to stay here with you, look after you—the way I did on the Blackbird. That’s all. Don’t say anything. Please. I just wanted you to know.”

 

She lays there, silent. But for a moment, her body trembles.

 

He continues, heart pounding. “I hope you don’t mind my saying it. I’d never want to make you feel uncomfortable. If you don’t want me here at night with you and Bucky again, I’d understand.”

 

Her breath hitches moment.

 

Biting his lip, he puts his hand on her shoulder and strokes it softly with his thumb. “I’m sorry. I’ll shut up now. I just hope it’s okay that I told you.”

 

Without saying a word, she squeezes her eyes shut. But she places her hand over his, as if to tell him it’s alright.

 

_God, Steve. What are you doing to me? If you keep touching me that way, I don’t think I could stop you._

 

He smiles with relief for her touch feels like an invocation, or perhaps a benediction, even after she drops her hand from his. He releases her shoulder and curls back into his pillow.

 

“Sweet dreams.”

 

 

 

 


	14. Call Me Irresponsible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More jealous Steve. And a tour.

 

 

_Call me irresponsible_

_Call me unreliable_

_Throw in undependable, too._

_Do my foolish alibis bore you?_

_Well, I’m not too clever I,_

_I just adore you._

_So, call me unpredictable,_

_Tell me I’m impractical_

_Rainbows, I’m inclined to pursue._

_Call me irresponsible,_

_Yes, I’m unreliable_

_But it’s undeniably true_

_That I’m irresponsibly mad for you._

Somehow, Steve’s arm ends up wrapped around Zaara’s waist during the night. It rests upon her belly, rising and falling with each breath—not that she notices. The class five mutant is sound asleep, oblivious to the chirping of early morning birds at the crack of dawn and the restless brush of bedsheets as the former Winter Soldier tosses and turns by her side, nearing the cusp of consciousness.

 

Opening his eyes, Steve finds himself transfixed by the mess of wavy brown hair fanning out over the mattress. A few wisps float lightly in the air near his nose, buoyed by the heaviness of his breath. Immediately, he registers the warmth beneath his arm and bites his lip as he realizes what he has done.

 

“Nice work, punk,” Bucky smirks, blue eyes glinting at the way Steve has managed to clutch Zaara’s body close while he slept. Having just woken, it is the first thing he sees this morning.

 

“I, I didn’t mean to,” Steve murmurs softly, and gingerly removes his arm so as not to wake his sleeping beauty.

 

“Sure you didn’t, punk,” Bucky cackles. “Hey, I’m not gonna bust your chops. But it looks like we have a problem here.”

 

“Do we?” Steve asks nervously. Down the hall, his ears detect the children’s breathing. It is starting to lighten and he senses they will wake any moment now. _This conversation is gonna be a short one._

 

“Yeah,” Bucky snorts, for he can tell it too, the way the children are nearing consciousness. With great aplomb, he cuts to the chase. “I see the way you look at her, Steve. It can’t go on like this.”

 

“No,” his friend admits with chagrin. “It can’t.”

 

“One of us should ask her out,” Bucky says coarsely. “Probably you.”

 

“Me?” he is taken aback. He’d never put himself before Bucky. _Not if you’re interested in her. How could I?_

 

“I’m like her patient. Can’t do it. Wouldn’t be right,” says the former Winter Soldier woefully, as if explaining it to himself. They’ve had this conversation before, after all, but he’s never been so frank. _And Steve’s never been so obvious. Time to face the music._

 

“So, you feel the same way about her?” Steve doesn’t really want to hear the answer to his question.

 

“What, me? Have feelings for a beautiful dame who’s lookin’ after me night and day, tethered to my brain? Are you kidding?” he cracks a baleful grin. “I’m all washed up, pal. No, it’s gotta be you.”

 

Dismayed by his best friend’s low opinion of himself, Steve frowns. Yet he also gets a warm feeling inside—he really can’t help it. _Me and Zaara. Bucky can see it._ Still, he can only shake his head and chastises himself for imagining it. _I’m jumpin’ the gun._ “You really think she likes me?”

 

“Pal, I _know_ she does,” he whispers roughly, keeping one eye on the sleeping Zaara. “She let it slip enough times—in her mind. At least,” he adds with a naughty grin as his eyes travel over Steve’s bare, muscular arms. “I know she likes your new body. She sure as hell liked sittin’ on it back on the Blackbird.”

 

Steve blushes but forces himself to keep a steady breath and act as if he isn’t at all excited by Bucky’s words. “We gotta find out what’s stopping her.”

 

“Dunno. Just got to the school and all,” Bucky chooses his words carefully.

 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “It’ll take time. But I still gotta know, Buck. Before anything can happen between us.”

 

“I’ll keep my mind open, see if she spills anything,” he nods, but curiosity overtakes him and suddenly finds himself staring hard at his friend. “Say, what about that blonde from the airport? The one you kissed? What about her?”

 

“Sharon?” Unnerved, Steve presses his lips together. “Never had a chance to get serious with her. Got her number, though.”

 

“Zaara’s been thinkin’ about her,” Bucky informs him shamelessly. “Thinks she’d make a better match for you.”

 

 _“What?”_ Steve sounds astonished.

 

Bucky cackles. “Whenever I catch her thinkin’ about you, she always makes herself think about _her._ Sharon, right? Tells herself Sharon’s your girlfriend, that you belong with her. Uses her to get her mind off _you._ ”

 

“Sharon . . .” Steve murmurs thoughtfully, though he cannot quell the thrill that ripples up and down his spine upon learning that Zaara thinks about him—and his body. Still, he must protest. “But she read my mind, Buck. She’s gotta know Sharon and I don’t really have anything going on. Not now.”

 

Bucky shrugs. “Or not yet? Maybe she’s usin’ Sharon to put some distance between the two o’ you. Seems a little desperate if you ask me. Remember,” he pauses dramatically. “Just ‘cause she _won’t_ date anyone don’t mean she don’t _want to.”_

 

“And what about you, Buck?” Steve asks, sighing. He really doesn’t want to get his hopes up. Life has sucker-punched him too many times already. “What do _you_ want?”

 

The former Winter Soldier frowns. _Just like Steve. Always puttin’ himself last._ “I want her to be happy. I want _you_ to be happy. And I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore like, like I used to. That’s all.”

 

Steve nods and silently reprimands himself for spending so much time thinking about his love life when there are more important matters to attend to—like Bucky. And his team. “It was never you, Buck.”

 

“Tell that to Tony Stark,” he replies softly, and gently brushes a tendril of hair from Zaara’s brow.

 

The morning swiftly turns hectic as the children wake—far too early, in the men’s opinion. Even though the supersoldiers still feel drowsy, there is no stopping Ellie and Henry. Bucky imagines someone will name a hurricane after them some day. _They’re like the perfect storm, those two._ But before he leaves the bed, he glances back at Zaara, the sound of her muffled breathing making him realize her face has become buried in her pillow. After a moment of careful consideration, he uses his flesh hand to roll her body over onto its side.

 

Steve frowns.

 

“Don’t want her to suffocate, do ya?” he whispers fiercely. _That’s my life, right there. I gotta watch out for her._

Steve sighs in defeat, the possessiveness he feels still taking him by surprise.

 

She breathes easier now, but remains asleep even amidst the shouts of the children which can be heard from several rooms away. Indeed, Henry and Ellie are bitter about remaining in the suite. Still so excited about coming home, they long to visit all of their friends. But Bucky cannot leave the suite without Zaara and Steve will not leave without Bucky. _Besides_ , Steve tells himself. _Zaara wants to stick to our routine, not let them run wild. There’ll be plenty of time for that later. It’s not even six o’clock in the morning._

 

They fix the children pancakes in the galley kitchen and send them to play out in the garden where they can make all the noise they want. Steve follows them to keep watch, rubbing his arm against his brow with worry. _Henry could_ _manage to scale that gate any day now._ Zaara warned him that Henry tried it before. Clever little boy used all his body weight to shift one of the heavy iron chairs close enough to help him clamber over the garden wall.

 

Bucky stays inside, uncertain if he can go as far as the garden. He’d rather not risk waking Zaara for he knows that to stretch the tether would cause both of them pain and so, when his chores are done, he takes a seat at the foot of her bed and quietly watches her while she sleeps. She breathes so peacefully, her face like some Renaissance angel, her slight smile reminiscent of the Mona Lisa. Bucky’s thoughts return to his days in Italy when he saw the famous painting with his own eyes. It makes him wonder if he’ll ever discover the reason behind that secret smile on a woman’s face, and whether he dare attempt to read Zaara’s mind while she sleeps. _The tether goes both ways,_ he tells himself but deep down inside, he knows she wouldn’t like it. He resists and thinks about Steve asking her out instead. It’s a proxy, he must admit, to have Steve date her. The man obviously wants to very badly indeed, but Bucky knows he’d be jealous as all get out if it ever happened. Problem is, he can’t figure out his own feelings for her. At the very least, he knows he’s attracted to her. There can be no doubt about that. If he were his old self, he’d scoop her right up in his arms and sweep her away on the dance floor. Dancing was always a good way to tell if a woman was interested in him. But he’s not himself anymore. He’s something like a machine. A killer. And she’s doing everything for him, putting him up in a castle, weaving protective spells around his mind and body. She’s even trusting him with her adorable children.

 

_Well, they were pretty damn annoying this morning. I really coulda used another couple hours of sleep._

 

So he remains at his post and sits upon the edge of her bed, watching her. When his ears detect the noisy scrambling of children up the back staircase, his spine stiffens. Soon enough, Steve enters the room.

 

“Buck.” Steve puts his hand on his hips. His best friend is watching a woman sleep. Off the cuff he can’t exactly say what’s wrong with it since they just spent the night right there beside her, but he just doesn’t like it. _Zaara wouldn’t like it. It’s a little strange, the way he’s looking at her._

 

“Leave her. Come on.”

 

Bucky nods solemnly and rises up from the bed. “Sorry. Couldn’t help it. Just started drifting, I guess.”

 

Steve presses his lips together. “She’d probably understand.”

 

“You should ask her out,” he says softly, not knowing why he keeps dwelling on it. “One of us has to.”

 

Steve shrugs, a poignant expression on his face. “Gotta wait. See how things work around here. Take some time to get to know her.”

 

“How much time do you think we have?” Bucky protests with a fierce whisper, startling himself. A sense of urgency takes over. “Don’t waste this chance. You know as well as I do, punk, it might be the only one you get.”

 

“Bucky?” Zaara’s sleepy voice rings out from under the covers. “What’s the emergency?”

 

“Nothin’,” Steve quickly answers. “Go back to sleep, doll. Everything’s fine.”

 

Groaning, she sits up and rubs her eyes. Immediately she can sense that Steve is covering something up, but she’s not awake enough to pursue it. Instead, she gives a great yawn. _It’s too damn early._ “Everyone’s up but me. Right?”

 

The men nod silently.

 

“Ugh,” Zaara flops back down onto the pillows and God help them, she looks so soft and beautiful and sleepy both of them wish they could flop right down on top of her. She giggles, for she catches the image in Bucky’s mind. “That was funny, Bucky. You’re as tired as I am. Kids wear you out?”

 

“Sure did,” Steve answers her lightly. “Come on, Buck. Take as much time as you need, Zaara. We’ll be in the kitchen.”

 

Soon enough, Zaara traipses out of the bedroom, feet bare and hair tousled. But hot coffee awaits her. “You didn’t.”

 

“’Course we did, doll,” Bucky practically sings. He’s thrilled to have her up. Suddenly the day seems full of light, the sun shines brighter, and the sky is a little bluer. Ellie and Henry cling to him, push him down upon the couch and jump on top of him.

 

“Easy, kids!” she calls. “Don’t hurt him!”

 

“Mama Mama!” they cry and run to her fast as a hurricane, hugging her tight.

 

“Oh, I’ve missed this,” she cries back, thinking of all those mornings in Wakanda when the boys let her sleep in and Ellie and Henry had already left for the day. She knows she’s got to stick to a strict schedule if she’s to see them to school from now on. Ellie starts back next week while Henry can re-join his pre-K program tomorrow. “But I need coffee.”

 

Steve watches with a satisfied smirk as she shuffles over to the kitchen, both children hanging off her waist, to get a sip of his coffee. He and Bucky have no need for it, though they enjoy drinking it well enough. But for Zaara, it is essential. Nothing can happen in her world before coffee. And it gives him a sense of smug satisfaction to know that it’s _his_ coffee she’s drinking.

 

She takes a sip and glances at him furtively. He cannot help but smile. All too soon, the children wander off. “Well, gentlemen,” she murmurs between sips, still not fully awake. “We have a busy day, even though you deserve a break. But I figured that we should get a couple of important things done sooner rather than later.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Bucky drawls. “And what’s that?”

 

“Well, we need to finish our tour,” she offers with a smile. “But, I’ve also called my attorney. I figured the sooner we talk to him, the better. He can help out with Clint and Scott, too. They want to head home today and I don’t want them to get arrested along the way.”

 

“ _He?”_ Steve asks in dismay. For some strange reason, he can’t help but feel jealous.

 

“Yes. _He._ Do you have a problem with that, Captain Rogers?” she smirks slightly, even though she hates to admit to she enjoys his jealousy. It’s terribly obvious, after all, even though she really can’t read his mind.

 

“No, ma’am,” Steve answers sheepishly, wondering what came over him.

 

“Good,” she raises her eyebrows and nods. “Actually, I have two attorneys. And both of them are excellent at their jobs. Mr. Murdock and Mr. Nelson will be here this afternoon to go over your case.”

 

“My case?” Bucky asks nervously and suddenly he is fretting as badly as he did last night when Zaara sent him to bed.

 

“Well,” Zaara sighs and reaches for him, for he is trembling. “I’m really hoping that we can settle things out of court. Lord knows Everett Ross did a number on you, denying you an attorney in the first place. And there may be some people I can persuade . . .”

 

“Zaara,” Steve’s voice has a tone of warning in it. “I can’t condone mental manipulation . . .”

 

She frowns, the tiniest bit exasperated. “I’m not just going to just tear in there and brainwash everyone, Steve. We’ll go over everything carefully and, if need be, I might have to give someone a push to make the right choice. Look, you know and I know that Bucky is safe. The public is in no danger from him no matter what the law says, and I’m not about to let the system put him behind bars for the rest of his life here or in some foreign state.”

 

Bucky shudders and huddles closer to her side, but she gives him an encouraging smile.

 

“Alright,” Steve presses his lips together in resignation. _She’s right._ “Let’s just let give the system a chance first. Agreed?”

 

“Of course,” she agrees with relief. “That’s why I have attorneys. We have them on retainer. It’s what the mutant defense fund is all about.”

 

“So they know about you?” Steve asks cautiously. “And all of the mutants?”

 

“Attorney-client privilege,” Zaaara nods enthusiastically. “Works wonders for us. But we’ll start with the Avengers first, just to make sure Clint and Scott get home safe. And we’ll probably have to inform the rest of the Avengers, by the way.”

 

“Tony Stark?” Bucky scoffs, still spooked by all the lawyer talk. “He tried to kill me.”

 

“I know,” she acknowledges gently. “Steve and I will handle it. We’ll meet with him soon and see about healing Rhodie, build up some good will.”

 

“Don’t get over optimistic, doll,” Bucky warns. “You _know_ what happened.”

 

“I do,” she replies softly. “I plan on helping him understand that _Hydra_ killed his mother— _not you._ Who knows; I might even get through to him.”

 

Bucky bows his head. _Still feel guilty, either way._

_It wasn’t you, Bucky. I know you. You’re a good man. And I’m going to set you to work. Today._

 

He raises his eyebrows. _Today?_

_You bet._

 

“You won’t . . .” Steve grasps about for the right words. “You wouldn’t use telepathy on Tony. Would you?”

 

“Did you even have to ask?” she sounds pained. “Of course not. A little brainwashing never did a relationship any good. You’re going to have to repair things from the ground up. Tony’s got to be devastated, of course. He messed up in so many ways, from Ultron to Zemo. If anything, he’s crippled by his own guilt. And that’ll make it even harder for him to face the fact that Bucky Barnes did _not_ kill his parents—Hydra did.”

 

The men flinch, the conversation rather heavy for so early in the morning.

 

“So we can talk about this later. We still have a big day ahead of us. Let’s eat,” she shrugs. “Wait—you already had breakfast, didn’t you?”

 

The men smile sheepishly.

 

“Right. Supersoldier appetites. Gimme half an hour. I’ll get dressed and we’ll start that tour I promised.”

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

When the children leave with Rogue, Zaara takes Steve and Bucky down to the bowels of the building. To their surprise, however, she does not bring them back to the X-men headquarters. Instead, they enter a brightly tiled corridor. “It’s a tunnel to the stables,” she explains. “I’m starting the tour here.”

 

“Whatever you say, doll,” Bucky shrugs, curious. It does seem a rather strange way to begin a tour. Steve remains silent, content to let Zaara run the show. The tunnel does indeed open out to a barn, but it is not the stable they had expected. Instead, it is a spacious garage housed inside a converted barn.

 

“This was the original stable,” Zaara explains. “But the Professor decided to renovate when he started the X-men. He needed room for the all the vehicles.”

 

“And how!” Steve does a double take. Without counting, he guesses there must be close to thirty cars parked here, each one bright, sparkling, and in mint condition. His eyes, however, zero in on the one and only motorcycle at the center of them.

 

Zaara notices and smiles. _The motorcycle. Of course. Military men and their bikes._ “Do you know why I brought you gentlemen here?” she asks cordially.

 

“Uh uh,” Bucky shakes his head. “Got no idea, doll.”

 

“I wouldn’t normally bring our guests to see the garage,” she admits. “But, you two are not exactly guests. You’re more like family. And since you’re family, you have the privilege to . . . go for a ride every now and then.” Bucky gulps down the lump that suddenly appears in his throat. “Yeah, Bucky,” she says softly. “I want you to feel free. That’s why I brought you here.”

 

Steve’s heart melts at the way she’s looking at his best friend.

 

“Won’t the tether stop me?” Bucky asks, his expression pained. _I told you already, I’m not going anywhere._

 

“I can loosen it, like I did back on the Blackbird,” she explains quietly while Steve looks on.

 

“You can just let him leave?” he asks, incredulous, startled by her confidence.

 

“I trust you, Bucky,” she keeps her eyes locked on the former Winter Soldier. “You’re not trapped here. You’re not a prisoner. I guess I’d only hope that you’d take Steve with you. If you need to get away for a little bit, that is.”

 

“I don’t wanna go away, doll,” he demurs. _Not from you. Not anymore. I made a promise._

 

She beams at him. “I know. I just want you to have the option.”

 

“Swell,” Steve tries to sound chipper. _We can talk this over later._ “These look like some pretty fancy cars.”

 

“Think our fleet would give the Avengers a run for their money?” Zaara grins mischievously.

 

“Well,” Steve rubs his chin like he is giving it careful consideration and eyes the luxury cars. “I don’t think we have anything this flashy. Our vehicles are mostly functional.”

 

“Well, some of these might surprise you,” she giggles. “I’ll let you figure it out on your own. On to the real barn, then.” The new stables are attached to the old barn and Steve breathes in the familiar scent of hay and horses. A multitude of mares and geldings fill every stall from left to right along two separate corridors. They seem healthy and vibrant, but the equipment in the tack room surprises him. The saddles seem rather small and quite different from what he was used to in the cavalry.

 

“We ride English saddle here,” Zaara explains, noting his expression. “The Professor loved horses, but we’re getting pretty crowded as of late. Three of our mares have foaled so far this year.”

 

“Foaled?” Steve asks in surprise. _Why would they be breeding them?_ “You keep a stallion here?”

 

“Apparently,” Bucky smirks as he approaches the stall of a rather pregnant mare.

 

Zaara frowns. “Shit. Not again.” She bites her lip and Bucky stares at her in surprise. “Sorry,” she apologizes, but seems distracted. Heading down the corridor, she raises her face towards the sky. _“BLINK!!”_

 

Nothing happens.

 

Zaara huffs to herself and stomps to the back of the barn. The men follow, speechless. “Deadbeat Dad,” Zaara curls her lip in disgust when she reaches the last stall at the very end. It is set apart from the others. The tall, dark horse bares its teeth at her and kicks a hoof against the wall like it’s issuing a challenge. “Still here, huh? I’m gonna take care of you. Just one little phone call to Dr. Snip-snips . . .”

 

Both men immediately shield their groins with their hands in an unconscious and protective gesture.

 

The next instant, a lithe young woman appears out of nowhere. She steps into the middle of the barn, her face imploring. Steve recalls seeing her in the crowd at the hangar when they first arrived, her hair streaked with pink. “No, Zaara! Please!” she begs.

 

“Blink.” Zaara’s voice sounds cold and rather unlike herself. Steve accurately guesses this is what she looks like when her patience has been utterly exhausted. He’s seen her come close with the children on occasion, but never this bad. “You were supposed to take care of this while I was away. _Another pregnant mare?_ What are we gonna do with her? We’re out of room as it is.”

 

“No, Zaara, _please_ don’t do it,” Blink begs.

 

“I’m so angry, I could spit,” Zaara fumes, digging around for her cellphone. She forces herself to take deep, slow breaths on purpose. Both men notice.

 

“Zaara?” Steve asks, surprised by the intensity of her rage, but he hardly has time to process what’s going on for, in the next instant, Blink has vanished. His supersoldier senses quickly track her down. She is standing in the stallion’s stall.

 

“Blink—NO!” Zaara shouts, but it is already too late. The stallion is gone and Blink with it. “How long are we going to keep playing this game?” Zaara mutters angrily, clenching her fists.

 

“Doll?” Bucky asks, bewildered. He has never seen her so angry.

 

Zaara sighs. “Sorry, Bucky. I’ve had it. Blink’s in love with that lousy nag and he’s caused nothing but trouble since she brought him here. Let me show you.” They follow as she strides up and down the barn, taking them to the stalls of three adorable foals. Only one has its own stall; the other two squished in close right next to their dams.

 

“They’re pretty cute,” Steve offers innocently.

 

“Extra mouths to feed,” Zaara scoffs with impatience. “But the biggest problem is we’re running out of room. Plus, he wants to kill all the geldings. You should see what he did to my baby.” She turns down the opposite corridor and whistles. “Babycakes? Mama’s home.”

 

“ _Babycakes_?” Bucky asks in horror as the biggest horse he has ever seen suddenly juts its head outside a stall door. He watches Zaara cradle it affectionately, kissing and cooing. Lovingly, she strokes an eight-inch scar upon his neck.

 

“This is Randy,” Zaara pouts as she snuggles the massive chestnut head into her bosom. Indeed, the horse’s skull is more than half the size of her body. “But I call him Babycakes. He’s a Belgian and he’s mine. Deadbeat Dad kicked him pretty hard a few months ago. Randy is the sweetest horse in the world and he’s a gelding, but Deadbeat is hellbent on killing him. I can sense it,” she explains mournfully, stroking the beast’s enormous face and twirling bits of his mane in her fingertips. “I missed you so much, sweetiepie.”

 

Their jaws drop at the same time as Zaara gives the massive creature more cuddles and kisses than they can count. “Yes, you’re my sweet boy,” she whispers, throwing both arms around his neck. Bucky realizes the horse could easily lift her right up off the ground that way if it wanted to. But the size differential doesn’t stop her at all; the way she coos to the horse betrays a sweet and trusting connection between the two of them. “You need some exercise; I can tell. Let me take you for a walk.”

 

“I, uh, used to ride. Years ago,” Steve offers cautiously, still stunned by the display of affection. _If only she’d touch me that way._  To his relief, Zaara seems to have forgotten her anger as she is positively dwarfed by the massive horse who seems as happy to see her as she is to see him. He wonders what would happen if Randy sneezed. _He’d probably knock her to the floor._ “Back with the cavalry.”

 

“I know,” she replies cheerfully. Cuddling with Randy always brightens her mood. “But the army rides Western. I don’t think we have a Western saddle.”

 

“You put a saddle on, on that monstrosity?” Bucky asks, aghast. Unlike Steve, he never trained in the cavalry, never spent any time around horses in his life. He’s a true cityboy.

 

“Yes,” she purrs, still rubbing the enormous creature’s cheeks. “But Randy’s not a monster. He’s just a big, big boy. I think I’ll take him with us when I show you the grounds. I’m too angry to saddle him right now; it’s a lot of work. And it scares him if I use telekinesis.”

 

“What about Blink?” Steve asks in wonder when she opens the stall door. The enormous beast steps with a lightness that belies his size, and seems quite excited to be let out.

 

“She’s been getting away with this for too long,” Zaara admits with dismay. “I’m going to have to take it up with Storm. I can’t beat Blink at her own game.”

 

“She’s a teleporter,” Steve notes astutely, recalling his all too recent experience with teleporting.

 

“One of the best,” Zaara agrees. “And annoying as hell ever since she brought that stallion to my barn.”

 

“How much does, does Randy eat?” Bucky can’t resist asking.

 

“A ton,” Zaara coos. “He’s my baby. Costs me a fortune. I pay for him myself. But he’s really my only extravagance.”

 

The men stay far back, awed by the size of him.

 

“He used to be part of a team. I found him in a pulling contest at the county fair. The owners mentioned they were going to retire him, so I asked if I could have him,” she murmurs while he lowers his head and willingly lets her slip the bridle on him.

 

 _That’s the tamest horse I ever saw._ Steve is astonished, though he can’t help feeling jealous of the way she touches him. _No wonder she adores him._

 

“There’s another big guy over there,” Bucky cants his head next door. A gargantuan steed has stuck the tip of his nose out of his stall while the rest of him remains tucked away and hidden in the corner.

 

“That’s Bob, his partner,” Zaara smiles. “Bob’s very sweet, too, but he’s a bit shy and not as cuddly. Want to walk him for me?”

 

“Uh, I dunno, doll,” Bucky breathes, rather intimidated and wondering what the hell he’d do if either of these beasts were to run amok. _That’s Winter Soldier thinking; like I’d have to shoot them or something._

 

“Lucky for us, the biggest horses tend to be the gentlest,” Zaara laughs. “Don’t worry, Bucky. I’ve got this. Steve knows horses, too, so we’re covered.”

 

“I’ll walk him,” Steve offers bravely, though Bob must be ten times bigger than any horse Steve has ever known. Indeed, Bob is even taller than Randy, though Randy seems heftier.

 

“The teams are a little asymmetric,” Zaara explains as she hands the reins to Steve. He takes them, praying that the massive creature will remain calm. Even with his supersoldier strength, he’s not sure he could restrain him if he bolted. “Randy pulled while Bob would do this little hop to get the ball rolling. Together they could haul close to fifteen thousand pounds.”

 

Bucky watches in awe as Zaara climbs upon a step ladder and slips a rather delicate looking bridle over Bob’s head. The horse is so incredibly tall he really can’t believe his eyes. _Unreal. Big as an elephant._ But with an astonishing nonchalance, Zaara leads Bob out of his stall and hands him over to Steve. “You sure you don’t wanna hold him, Bucky?” she asks playfully.

 

“Not without a stronger left arm, doll,” he replies honestly.

 

She giggles. “Well, they’re both very gentle, but once they set their minds to something, it can be tricky to convince them otherwise.”

 

“They like grass?” Steve asks.

 

“They’re horses. Of course they do,” she snorts. “But no grazing. They’ve already gotten a little chunky since I left. I can tell.”

 

“So how do I stop them?” Steve asks. He can’t believe the size of these fellows, but already he can tell they share a gentle nature. Calm, tranquil, and affectionate Randy nuzzles his shoulder. Bob is a little more standoffish and Steve must brace himself so the huge horse doesn’t knock him over when he shifts his weight between his hooves.

 

“Be firm,” she replies. “Would you hold Randy while I go grab some peppermints? We can use them as bribes.”

 

“Sure,” Steve agrees, looking anything but sure.

 

Bucky snorts to see Steve standing there, dwarfed between two massive draft horses.

 

“Why don’t you go on and let them sniff you, Bucky?” Zaara calls as she heads into the tack room to find treats. “They like to make friends. Might as well get to know them.”

 

“Okay, doll,” Bucky says. “I mean, do I have to? I’m a city boy.”

 

She sighs patiently and returns with the treats tucked away in her pockets. “Here. Just make your hand into a fist. That way, they can’t bite you, but they can sniff you.”

 

He does as she says while she takes Randy’s line from Steve.

 

“You ride these big boys?” Steve asks, trying to imagine what it would be like. His head doesn’t even reach the top of Bob’s withers.

 

“Yup,” she replies. “But we just do trail rides. Nothing fancy. Took a while to train them, but they like it. We should teach Bucky to ride.”

 

“Not sure _I_ could ride on those saddles,” Steve admits.

 

“We can work on it,” she smiles. “We have time. Or maybe we could get a couple of Western saddles and train them on those. Or you could just ride Randy and Bob bareback.”

 

“Bareback?” Steve seems a little shocked.

 

“Or, maybe not,” she admits. “Well, we’ve only been riding them for a couple years now. They might be able to adjust to Western saddles. It’s worth a shot. But,” she adds with a laugh and a wink, “You supersoldiers should be strong enough to go bareback. Unlike me!”

 

Soon, the three of them wander across the grounds, Zaara holding Randy and Steve leading Bob. At times it takes a lot to keep their noses out of the grass. Bucky stays next to Zaara, half-afraid for her safety and half-afraid for his own. But the horses remain calm and unperturbed. They walk a long while and Zaara routes them by the swimming pools (one is a diving pool), several cottages, and even a small lake. For a while, they follow a short trail skirting the edge of the woods, and Zaara explains that there are two longer trails if they want to go on a real trail ride someday.

 

“So, we’ve covered almost a third of the perimeter,” she continues. “It’s a pretty big property, about a hundred acres. There’s even a few caves hidden deep in the woods. You can explore them sometime on your own. If Bucky wants to be on patrol, the two of you can circle the property once or twice a day if you like.”

 

She keeps her suggestions mild, non-threatening, and at a minimum knowing Bucky hates the thought of being separated from her right now, even just for a short while. The new environment has him on edge and Zaara now realizes that he’s spoken to no one at the school aside from Rogue. He seems preoccupied by their safety so she reassures him that, while in residence, her mind remains linked to a wider security system that stretches a few miles beyond the school. Forge designed it as an ingenious interface between cameras, motion detectors, and her own telepathy so that she can keep track of who goes on and off the property, and, more importantly, alerts her when anyone with nefarious intentions draws near. Betsy managed it while Zaara was out of town. Zaara taps a small device clipped to the back of her left ear and for all they can tell, it looks like a piece of artisanal jewelry.

 

“And, when I go into the city twice a week, Forge takes over,” she tells them.

 

“Forge?” Steve asks.

 

“Oh,” Zaara realizes. “You haven’t met him yet. He’s sort of an introvert, didn’t come to dinner last night. I’ll take you to meet him later. I think he’ll have some great ideas about your arm, Bucky.”

 

“Sure thing, doll,” Bucky murmurs, overwhelmed by the vastness and beauty of the estate. It is far larger than he imagined. Open fields, green gardens, and a magical looking wood make it feel like some wild, bucolic fantasy.

 

“Oh,” Zaara suddenly exhales when they reach the end of the short trail. “The last cottage.”

 

Most of the cottages remain unoccupied, though Zaara hints that Wanda may take up residence if she becomes weary of being around all the children. She purposefully does not mention that Steve and Bucky are welcome to a cottage of their own since they can probably figure that out for themselves. In truth, she’d prefer they remain in her suite. And in fact, she can’t admit to herself how much she’d miss them if they left. But this last cottage sits far off from the others, on the edge of the wood. Patches of scorched earth and singed tree trunks seem to form a semi-circle around it. Both men notice.

 

“Theo,” Zaara says abruptly, wiping her brow. “I forgot he’s still out here.”

 

“Who’s Theo?” Steve asks.

 

“One of our special cases,” she sighs. “He can’t control his powers yet, so he stays here. He’s home; I can sense him. I completely forgot about him. I don’t think he’s in the mood for visitors today, but we can try again tomorrow.”

 

“How old is he?” Steve asks, and Bucky pauses, marking the sadness in her eyes.

 

“Thirteen,” she replies solemnly.

 

“What’s his power?” Steve asks cautiously.

 

“Abdominal energy blasts,” Zaara murmurs. “Something like Alex. But he can’t control it—they’re released at random. Alex has been helping him out, actually, since he came to stay here with Betsy. The blasts don’t seem to effect him so it’s definitely related to Havok.”

 

"What’s Alex been doing with him?” Steve asks, his curiosity piqued.

 

“He’s been practicing with him, working on containing the energy and channeling it,” she explains. “It’s tedious work, but very necessary. Until we can bring his window up to at least ten minutes, it’s too dangerous to keep him in the mansion. We barely have a ten second window as it is.”

 

Steve nods soberly.

 

Bucky swallows. “Poor kid.”

 

She nods. “See? You’re not the only one who needs help in the self-control department.”

 

“The energy . . . it fires out of his torso?” Steve asks in amazement.

 

“Yes,” Zaara nods. “With a ten second window, he’s been able to avoid damaging the cottage because it's so small. The rocks and trees are not as lucky.”

 

The three of them pause, staring at the debris surrounding the cottage. A face appears in the window.

 

“Wave, guys,” Zaara instructs them. “He won’t come out—not with the horses here. He knows better.”

 

They wave and the young man gives them a small smile, then turns away. Bucky feels a pang for the lonely life of this boy. “What about his parents?” he asks gruffly.

 

“They’re worried for him, they care. They write him every day,” she says softly. “They’re pretty anxious that the army doesn’t find out about him, or any of those war mongers out there.”

 

“What are his specs?” Steve asks.

 

“Well, we haven’t really let him rip yet,” she explains. “We need to try and contain it first. And with the Professor gone, well, we haven’t really trained anyone in that capacity. He used to take them down to the bomb shelter his father built, long ago. That’s where he trained Alex and Scott.”

 

Steve nods, and she can tell his mind is working. “Where is it?”

 

“Down that way,” she nods her head towards a small hill. In the distance, his eyes make out a strange-looking gate in the valley. “Alright,” she sighs, sensing what he wants. _Why not? He did help Wanda, after all._ “Talk to Alex. Maybe you can figure something out. He's heading back west next week with Betsy.”

 

“Alright,” he agrees, not liking the idea of an isolated thirteen year old. “Who brings him his meals?”

 

“Lately it’s been Alex,” she explains.

 

“When he leaves, I’ll do it,” Steve asserts.

 

“Not until I make you a new shield,” she insists.

 

“What?” Bucky pipes up. “Not with that vibranium dress I hope, doll.”

 

“The dress I am _never_ wearing again,” she points out. “Steve needs something to protect him. A ten second window’s not quite enough.” Steve feels something unlock in his chest, realizing the priceless gift Zaara plans on giving him. “I’ll have to get Storm’s permission first,” she says quietly, noticing the expression on his face.

 

“And mine,” Bucky adds saucily.

 

“Bucky, I am not putting that dress on ever again. Not even if _you_ put it on first,” she says, narrowing her eyes.

 

“I dunno,” he muses with a flirtatious grin. “Might suit me. If that’s all it took to make you wear it again . . .”

 

She blushes heavily, but for once Bucky doesn’t shy away. Steve only stares at the ground, his cheeks flushing, recalling how beautiful she looked in the barely-there, sparkling dress and Zaara frowns.  _Funny how Bucky seems most at ease with himself when he’s flirting with me. Shit._ “That’s it. I’m making that damn dress into a shield the first chance I get,” she suddenly stomps away, leading Randy with her.

 

Steve follows, tugging on the line to get a lazy Bob to keep up.

 

Bucky laughs at them both.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

After returning Randy and Bob to their stalls, Zaara angrily vows to do something about Deadbeat Dad. Indeed, the stallion is back in his stall and whinnies angrily at her, stomping a hoof.

 

She hisses at him.

 

“Geez, doll. Remind me _not_ to get on _your_ bad side,” Bucky whistles.

 

Steve throws him a glance, but Zaara has the grace to blush. “Let’s go see the rest of the house.”

 

The mansion seems every bit as impressive as the night before and then some. Bucky loves the dance studio best, but Steve’s heart is in the arboretum. He takes note of the desks clustered there, the sky-high glass ceiling, massive French windows and marble floors, and imagines what it would feel like to be a student sitting in one of those desks. To his delight, Zaara silently takes him by the arm and leads him to a storage room. Without a word, she opens the door. Inside sits a cluster of dusty wooden easels.

 

“We haven’t had an art teacher in ages,” she says hopefully. “You know your way around a studio, don’t you, Steve?”

 

“Well, I guess so,” he practically stutters. “But I never finished art school.” The light in the arboretum is magnificent and he fantasizes about whiling away many happy hours here, sketching.

 

“Then you're already more qualified than anyone else around here. It’s yours,” she says with sincerity. “We can schedule weekly classes whenever you’re ready.”

 

“Alright,” he replies with some hesitation. He’s never taught an art class before, but if Zaara wants him to do it, he’ll give it his best shot. Drawing brings him such release and he has to admit he’s been pining for it. It could be tricky, however, to find a subject when all he can see in his mind’s eye is _her_. But before he knows it he imagines sketching Henry, rendering that soft, mischievous countenance on paper even if he can only do so from a photograph. The child barely stays still long enough to be captured by a digital camera as it is.

 

They continue through the dining hall (which they visited last night), past the communal kitchen, and head upstairs to the vast entertainment room. _Zaara wasn’t kidding when she said it was like a movie theater,_ Steve thinks, but Bucky only has eyes for the pool table. Moments later, they end up in the library. Though Bucky is less interested, Steve, who is quite a bookworm, finds it thrilling. Volumes of old, leatherbound books make the place seem a more elegant version of his old stomping grounds at the Brooklyn Public Library. Just past the library is the staff lounge, though in actuality it is more of a parlour where the Professor keeps some very plush couches, wingback chairs, and the family piano which happens to be an antique concert grande.

 

“Well, boys, this is where I practice—usually at night when no one’s around,” she explains. Both men imagine her sitting all alone and indulging in her time away from the children. It seems lonely to them, somehow, and they wonder what she likes to play. Bucky fervently hopes she will play for _him_ so he can sing again.

 

“Sure I would, Bucky,” she squeezes his arm affectionately. “I’d love to play for you. But I have to warn you, I’m not very good. I don’t get to practice much. But if you give me something easy, I can do it.”

 

“Won’t you play something for us now?” Steve asks hopefully, stifling the sharp streak of jealousy that flashes through him when she touches Bucky.

 

“Oh,” she demurs, a little embarrassed. “I don’t have any of my books right now. And we have some people to meet. Later—I promise.”

 

On the way out, they pass a door with a small but distinctive sign: _Danger Room._ Both men are intrigued, but Zaara only huffs and refuses to talk about it. “X-men only,” she says sharply when they press her about it. Clamping her mouth shut, she leads them downstairs to the gym that lies just past the foyer and tells them they can use it any time of day.

 

“It’ll do,” Steve says politely. Though the facility seems to be of a generous size, it is nowhere near as vast as the Avengers gym which takes up an entire floor of the compound. Still, the bright windows and the old-fashioned boxing ring make it considerably more attractive to him. And the vintage style of it all, from the simple free weights to the wooden floors, makes him feel quite at home.

 

“Well, I hope so,” she laughs. “If you like to lift heavy objects, we should be able to accommodate you. Pete finds enough to do, even in his Colossus form. We have a couple more studios for yoga and pilates, but I can show them to you later, if you like.”

 

“Nah. This’ll do just fine, doll,” Bucky chuckles. The place is more beautiful than he could have imagined, and positively filled with light. “Beats the hell out of training in a Hydra sub-basement.”

 

Steve nods solemnly. “Sub-basement? What—they didn’t even let you in the basement?”

 

Bucky snorts.

 

The men adore this stately house and can hardly believe their luck. It feels much more like home than the palace in Wakanda ever did, and Bucky has to remind himself that Steve and Zaara are his real home, even if they are living in a goddamn castle. Still, he keeps the idea of a cottage in the back of his mind, just in case he ever needs to retreat to such a place. _Especially to give the two of them some privacy._

_What was that?_ Zaara turns to him in surprise.

 

_Nothin’ doll. Just don’t wanna crowd you._

_If I couldn’t handle crowds, do you think I’d be living here?_

 

When they have finally finished with their tour, they head back to the grand foyer and find the Avengers gathered there, waiting for them. Clint and Scott stare at them expectantly while Sam only smirks in that way of his, trying to figure out which man has it worse for the gorgeous telepath. _Both of ‘em look like a pair of lovesick fools._

 

“Gentlemen—and lady,” Zaara greets them, for Wanda has suddenly arrived. “Thanks for coming.” She gives Sam a peculiar stare that holds something of a warning. “We’ve been given leave to use the Professor’s office today. Some important guests are due to arrive any minute now.” She gazes up at the ceiling for a moment. “In fact, they’re here.”

 

“Who are they?” Clint asks.

 

“Our attorneys,” Steve replies and the four men brace themselves. Wanda gazes at Zaara knowingly.

 

 _Time to pay the piper_ , Clint says to himself.

 

Zaara takes Wanda by the hand and squeezes it tight. “Don’t worry, hon. These guys are the best.”

 

A sudden knock makes Scott jump. “Geez! What was that?” he asks, trembling.

 

“The front door,” Zaara replies calmly.

 

“You never know around here,” Scott shrugs apologetically. Indeed, the wayward Avengers have had far more contact with the student body than Bucky or Steve since Zaara deliberately went out of her way to avoid teenagers all morning long. She’s well versed in their patterns and routines, it being a school day and all. Scott clears his throat. “Sorry, guys. I get a little spooked in this house. There’s always someone popping out of thin air, walking through walls, flying over my head or shooting sparks out of their fingers . . .”

 

“Thanks, Scott,” Steve says patiently while Wanda tries not to smile. “Would you excuse me? I’m going to answer the door.”

 

Two men stand outside. A somewhat short and stubby blonde with sloppy long hair stares at him, star-struck. Beside him stands a terribly fit young man in dark glasses who carries a walking cane. Steve quickly recognizes it as being for the blind. Behind the cool shades, the young man gives him a distinct smirk.

 

Steve has an immediate dislike of him.

 

Bucky frowns like there's a bad taste in his mouth.

 

The blonde man stutters and nudges his companion. "Matt, it's . . . it’s _Captain America_.”

 

The blind man slowly grins. “I know.”

 

To his surprise, Steve has to suppress a growl. _What the hell is wrong with me? Where are my manners?_

A long moment passes while the two men stand there and stare at him in awestruck silence.

 

“Won’t you please come in?” Steve finally says as politely as he can while gritting his teeth.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was growing extremely long, so I decided to cut it off just before they have their legal talk with Nelson and Murdock. Plus, it's taking a lot of effort to make the legalese sound like a genuine part of my narrative ;-)
> 
> Apologies in advance if any reader feels I cut this off too soon. Sorry! I can post updates more frequently if I keep my chapters a little bit shorter.


	15. But Not For Me

 

_They’re singing songs of love_

_But not for me._

_A lucky star’s above_

_But not for me._

_With love to lead the way, I’ve found more clouds of grey_

_Than any Russian play can guarantee._

_I was a fool to fall, and get this way_

_Hi ho alas, and also lackaday._

_Although I can’t dismiss the memory of her kiss_

_I guess she’s not for me._

 

 

“Hey, Foggy!” Zaara laughs, weaving her way through the crowd of Avengers while Steve and Bucky look on in dismay. The man who always reminds her of a blonde teddy bear opens his arms and she gives him an affectionate squeeze while he joins in her laughter. But the darker man at his side turns to face her and Steve notices the way his nostrils flare out ever so slightly, as if he’s scenting her.

 

“Zaara,” a deep voice rings out from behind the pair of glasses and the two supersoldiers catch his scent. It’s intense—strong and masculine, the slight edge of a threat to it. The blind man’s smirk turns into a broad, knowing smile as he flashes his teeth at her. Zaara releases Foggy and both Steve and Bucky feel it—the strange sensation that the blind man has some kind of hold over her. She faces him now with a nearly imperceptible tremble.

 

A shocking vision flashes into Bucky’s mind and his spine shoots straight up. _That man kissed her. Once._ Casting his eyes over to Steve, who does not notice, Bucky emits a low-pitched growl which is luckily drowned out by the milling of the crowd while Steve’s lips press together tightly in a struggle for control. Though he has not had the same vision as Bucky, he might as well have. Something makes him loathe this stranger, and to have him anywhere near Zaara makes him livid. This man poses a threat, though Steve can’t explain why.

 

“Matt,” Zaara murmurs, for it is always difficult to see him in person. Suddenly, she reads Steve’s rage, the jealousy and protectiveness he feels for her—as if she belongs to him. Fear wafts through her heart and she detects his urge to fight Matt Murdock and to kill him if he could, as if he knows what the Daredevil is capable of. She’s never had that feeling from Steve before, the inkling of a primal claim over her, a claim he’d enforce by violence, if he had to. A shimmering thrill shoots through her body.

 

Quickly, the other Avengers realize something is up, though no one can say what it is. Sam narrows his eyes, seeing that his friend is tensing up for a fight. Wanda shrinks deep into herself and takes it all in. _This is some sort of lover’s quarrel. Best to stay out of it._

 

 _What’s goin’ on, doll?_ Bucky asks, worried and bewildered as he suppresses his own violent instincts, even if they are not as rage-filled as Steve.

 

 _It’ll be alright, Bucky,_ she tells him though she doesn’t know for certain herself.

 

Tucking his cane under his arm, Matt Murdock comes closer. “Ms. Xaviar. It’s been a while.”

 

“It has,” she admits, gasping slightly now that she’s in his reach. There’s an undeniable charge between them and Steve holds his breath, tensing up even further as if he can see sparks flying through the air. The blind man brings his hands to Zaara’s face and quite deliberately runs his fingers over her cheeks like he is touching something made of gold. Steve simmers. He’s seen blind people touch others this way before, but cannot help but feel it some sort of ruse. Bucky chews his lip with resentment as those fingers trace down her jaw and even dare to brush over her lips. To his dismay, the former Winter Soldier registers how the man’s touch electrifies Zaara from top to bottom.

 

_So many feelings. . . She wants him, doesn’t want him, is afraid of him—and for him. Thinks Steve wants to kill him and I can’t argue with that. Ain’t never seen him this angry. And she wants Steve, wants to be with him, but wants the other guy, too. Two men at the same time. What the hell is going on?_

 

“It’s good to see you,” Zaara squeezes her eyes shut and enfolds Matt Murdock into her warm embrace. Affection has always been a good defense for her and she uses it now, for she genuinely cares about this Daredevil who puts himself in grave danger time and again to protect the people of Hell’s Kitchen. Even with her soft breasts pressing against the hard muscles of his chest, the man named Matt remains acutely aware of his surroundings. _Five men and two women. Two of them, males, with elevated heart rates and high body temperatures, ready for a fight. What’s going on here?_

 

Zaara releases him, though he still holds her close, not wanting to relinquish contact with her body. “Avengers, this is Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson. Attorneys-at-law.”

 

“Hi, everyone,” Foggy says, his beaming face betraying his excitement at meeting so many of his heroes at the same time. “We know who you all are. Even you, Mr. Lang. I’m a fan, by the way.” But he saves a special glance for Bucky Barnes, the so-called Winter Soldier. Indeed, even with Matt by his side, he finds it rather intimidating to meet the Winter Soldier. _Or, the former Winter Soldier,_ he reminds himself, though the man doesn’t exactly seem friendly. Still, he is his client now and Foggy fervently hopes he will prove to be more cooperative than Matt’s last Hail Mary case, Frank Castle, otherwise known as the Punisher. “Good to meet you, Sergeant Barnes.”

 

Bucky nods briefly, reluctant to tear his eyes away from Zaara. The blonde man poses no threat but he doesn’t like the way Matt Murdock touches her any more than Steve does. Still, his protective instincts compel him to keep her away from the man rather than attack him. He’s known Steve almost all of his life and he can tell his best friend is ready to go on the offensive. Bucky’s urge, however, is to simply grab Zaara and whisk her away as fast as he can. But he grits his teeth and restrains himself.

 

As does Steve. And Zaara is careful to keep her body situated between his and Matt’s, as if she senses what might happen if the two of them get near each other. It is always a strain to read Matt’s mind because of his incredible sensory input and the way he rapidly sorts through scents, sounds, and vibrations to cull information from his environment. But she’s well aware that the man otherwise known as the Daredevil is sensing a fight and, even though they are among friends, she can’t take it for granted both men will obey their better instincts.

 

_I don’t understand why the hell they want to fight, but Steve is not running this show._

_Gotcha, doll. I’ll stay on him,_ Bucky responds, to her surprise.

 

 _You’re reading me?_ she asks unhappily.

 

_Yeah. Can’t help it. Sorry, doll. Let’s get down to business._

_You got it._

 

“Come with me, Matt,” she says softly, eyeing Steve nervously. _Make sure he behaves himself, Bucky. Please._ With great deliberation, she wraps her hand around Matt’s arm, his taut bicep brushing lightly against the side of her breast, and leads him to the Professor’s study.

 

Matt beams.

 

Steve pouts.

 

When they enter the study, it feels rather crowded. Zaara closes the door with an authoritative bang. Matt, Foggy, Clint, Scott, Sam, and Wanda take their seats while Steve clears his throat.

 

“Mr. Murdock. Mr. Nelson. Thanks for coming today.”

 

“It’s our pleasure, Captain,” Foggy dives in, trying not to get over-excited. “I hope you all realize Ms. Xaviar has us on retainer through the Mutant Defense Fund. If we establish that you’re our clients, attorney-client privilege will cover both the Avengers and the X-men. That is, uh, if you wish to be our clients.”

 

“We wish it,” Bucky says quietly, speaking up for the first time.

 

“Excellent, Sergeant Barnes,” Matt nods slowly in his direction, making Bucky realize he is responding to the sound of his voice. “But from what Zaara said, we’ll get to you second. It seems we need to address the Avengers first. I understand a few of you want to head home and we don’t want any arrests along the way. Now, do we know who is responsible for what happened in Berlin and Leipzig?”

 

“A guy named Helmut Zemo masterminded the whole thing,” Clint replies gruffly. “He murdered the psychiatrist who was supposed to evaluate Barnes at the Joint Counterterrorism Center. Also set off the bomb in Vienna that killed King T’Chaka and many others.”

 

Steve nods solemnly, grateful to get back on track. Losing control of his feelings leaves him feeling weak and awkward, so he reminds himself they are doing this for Bucky, even if he can’t stand to be in the same room as Matt Murdock. With great bitterness, he notices how Zaara remains close by Murdock’s side, perching on the armrest of his chair, though he has no way of knowing she’s doing it to protect him—from Steve.

 

“Well, that simplifies things,” Matt rubs his chin thoughtfully. “So if Zemo was responsible, then what did the Avengers actually do, besides upset Tony Stark?”

 

Silence.

 

“Well, we kind of destroyed the airport in Leipzig,” Sam admits in a confessional tone.

 

“We completely destroyed it, actually,” Bucky clarifies.

 

“Well, then you can be charged with destruction of property,” Foggy offers. “All based on a misunderstanding due to Helmut Zemo. You can pay for it out of pocket and that should wrap things up.”

 

“Stark is paying to repair it,” Wanda confirms. She’s been keeping careful track of on-line news ever since they broke out of the Raft.

 

Foggy shrugs. “Was anyone hurt?”

 

Wanda winces.

 

“Only Rhodie—and that was caused by Vision. Not us—at least, not directly,” Steve replies with more than a tinge of guilt.

 

“So what’s their legal status? Can Clint and Scott go home?” Sam asks and his friends look all too eager to hear the answer to that question.

 

Foggy ponders it cautiously. “Well, nobody’s dead. A man got hurt, but it wasn’t _your_ fault. If it was only property damage and if it’s been paid for, we’ve got friends in Munich. We can arrange for negotiations with the German authorities and it should be over. They’ve got bigger things to deal with than charging the Avengers with vandalism.”

 

“Have they dropped the warrants for our arrests?” Scott asks fearfully, never wanting to see the inside of a slam again. _Twice is more than enough._

 

“The warrants have already been rescinded,” Matt notes smugly, scrolling swiftly through his laptop. “The only question left was the property damage at the airport.”

 

 _Always two steps ahead of everyone else,_ Zaara bites her lip and Matt turns to her, as if he can see the glint in her eye.

 

“What about the rescue from the Raft?” Steve asks, wanting to draw his attention away from Zaara.

 

“Not under German jurisdiction,” Foggy immediately replies.

 

“Ross was exceeding his authority,” Matt agrees. “He had no right to hold you. You were wrongly held. Did you damage the facility during the rescue op?”

 

“Uh, not really,” Zaara admits with reluctance. “We might have left a few technical glitches, but nobody was hurt.”

 

“They can’t prove who did it,” Steve says shrilly. “But I’m the main suspect.”

 

“But there’s no proof,” Foggy points out. He pauses for a moment before adding, “I’d love General Ross to explain to Congress how six billion dollars was spent from a classified account on a slam that couldn’t hold people.”

 

“So we’re good?” Scott asks nervously. He’s been staying unusually silent for, between the Avengers and the X-men and all the legal ramifications, he’s in over his head. All he wants is to see his daughter again.

 

Zaara smiles gently at the guy who calls himself Ant-man.

 

Matt's smirk returns. “Look, you were wrongly held under no authority. Ross is in more trouble than you are at the moment.”

 

Clint gives a satisfied snort.

 

“And Bucky?” Steve asks, the vulnerability plain on his face.

 

Matt sighs. “Well, he’s the one we gotta worry about.”

 

Bucky shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

 

“Sorry, dude. You really are the only problem we have,” Foggy admits. “Though it's gonna be a complicated dance to solve Wanda’s visa problems. But the rest of you Avengers are good for now. You can go home, gentlemen, if you like, but keep in touch. If Wanda’s staying here, she’s off the radar and we can put her off her stuff ‘til later. We should probably discuss Sergeant Barnes’ case now. That’s a separate matter so the rest of you are free to go.”

 

“Sounds good,” Wanda nods gratefully, glad to put her legal troubles on hold for the moment. It’s hard enough to be recovering from her time in the Raft. Clint helps her up from her seat and they follow Sam and Scott who are already heading for the door.

 

“Thanks, dude,” Scott nods wearily. “I guess I’ll see you all at dinner? Clint and I are heading out afterwards.”

 

Clint nods. “It’ll be good to see the family again.”

 

“You all did the right thing,” Matt rises from his seat. “That took guts.”

 

“Just do your best for Sergeant Barnes, man,” Sam says solemnly. _Even though I hate him._

 

When they leave, the Professor’s study feels considerably more spacious. Only Foggy, Matt, Steve, Bucky, and Zaara remain. They wait while Foggy opens his briefcase.

 

“So, let’s start at the beginning . . .” Foggy sighs, thumbing through a mountain of paperwork. “You’re a decorated war hero, captured by Nazis, tortured and brainwashed. Forced to do things against your will. Denied an attorney by Everett Ross and the Joint Counterterrorism Taskforce, though you’re not guaranteed that right in Germany. But the main question is—who’s got jurisdiction over you?”

 

Matt tilts his head, as if recounting memories that were never his own. “Well, he was captured in Germany in ’45 and held against his will. He had no knowledge or ability to control what happened to him over the next sixty years. At best, Bucky was a POW until Captain Rogers rescued him. That puts him under the Geneva Convention. So at the end of hostilities, he has to be repatriated to his country. But if they want to charge him with war crimes then, under the Treaty of Rome, he’s tried at the Hague unless his country’s a signatory to the treaty and has a functioning legal system. Bucky’s American and, under the treaty of Rome, if he is to be tried, he’ll be tried in the southern district of New York.”

 

“And where exactly is that?” Steve demands, suddenly in thrall to the man he despised at first sight.

 

“Brooklyn,” Matt replies.

 

The room sits in stunned silence.

 

“We have a lot of work to do,” Foggy finally speaks up. “But I think we can keep this from going to trial.”

 

Matt turns to him in surprise. “Are you kidding me?”

 

“I can help with that,” Zaara addresses Foggy quietly. Steve and Bucky breathe a sigh of relief, Steve not wanting to imagine Bucky before a jury and being cross-examined on the witness stand, enduring media scrutiny that would tear apart the new life he has just started to build for himself. “But how do we know whether Bucky will be treated as a POW, or as a war criminal?”

 

Steve steps in. “Anyone can see he was a prisoner first.”

 

“But they’re going to make arguments that he wasn’t and some will try to classify him as a war criminal,” Foggy warns. “Even if they do, all roads lead back to Brooklyn. That’s where he’s going to be tried because the southern District of New York is, by treaty, where we receive them for trial.”

 

“Will he go on trial if he’s classified a POW?” Steve asks.

 

“Yes,” Matt replies and Bucky’s blood runs cold. “Because of the things he did as a POW, whether dereliction of duty or aiding and abetting the enemy.”

 

Steve shudders. “Either way, will there be JAGs?”

 

Foggy frowns. “It depends. If he’s a repatriated POW, it’s going to be a court martial. But if it’s under the treaty of Rome, it’s going to be a civilian trial. It’s still unsettled law, because of Gitmo. It’s really a mess right now.”

 

“Are there ways to keep it from going to trial, whether he’s a POW or a war criminal?” Zaara asks pointedly.

 

“Yes. You want to have some negotiation and our bargaining chip is that Ross is a maniac. He ignored evidence, kept intelligence from our allies, acted on his own taking extreme measures. Do we want to be seen defending this nut job in front of our allies? Do we want yet another trial of a war hero? I don’t think this administration has the stomach for it,” says Foggy. “No offence, Sergeant Barnes, but it’s clear you’re suffering from PTSD, and you need treatment.”

 

“I’d pack that jury with every war vet I could find,” Matt vows, ignoring both Zaara and Foggy.

 

“Matt,” Zaara keeps her voice low. “We’re going to do everything we can by the book. That’s how we play. But I’m not letting this case go to trial. Bucky is staying here, with me. He poses no danger to anyone. He deserves a chance to heal and I’m not going to let them rip his life apart all over again.” Deep down in the bottom of his heart, Steve feels an incredible sense of relief. _That’s my girl._ Bucky, however, looks ashen.

 

_Between me and the darkness, doll. Only you._

 

She smiles tenderly at him, compassion flooding her heart. _You deserve this, Bucky. I won’t let anyone hurt you again._

 

Matt is surprisingly subdued by her statement. Even so, he protests, albeit with less bravado. “If that’s what you want, Ms. Xaviar. How do you feel about it, Sergeant Barnes?”

 

“I’ll do whatever she thinks is right,” Bucky murmurs, his voice barely perceptible.

 

Suddenly, Foggy has an inkling. _That guy is madly in love_. He glances worriedly at Matt. “Look,” he stutters. “I know you mutants have ways . . .”

 

“She said she’d play it by the book,” Steve interrupts him boldly. “So let’s not worry about it. Just do your job, then come back to us. If there’s any chance of keeping it out of court, we’ll cooperate and do everything you say. If not, then we’ll see what needs to be done.”

 

“Very well, Captain,” Matt narrows his eyes, displeased by the way Steve seems to take over. He glances sharply at Zaara.

 

She nods. “Should we break? If the rest of the Avengers are off the hook, we can continue this discussion after lunch.”

 

“I’d say they are,” Foggy replies reluctantly. “But I recommend meeting with Mr. Stark, just to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

 

“I was counting on it,” Zaara agrees coolly. “I’m heading there tomorrow.”

 

“Tomorrow?” Steve is taken aback.

 

“Don’t worry,” she takes in the surprised expressions of all four men. Matt. Foggy. Bucky. And Steve. “They’ll see us. But Bucky will have to stay here.”

 

“Without you?” the former Winter Soldier asks mournfully.

 

“I’ll tether you to Rogue. Or Betsy,” she says softly. “I don’t want you anywhere near Tony Stark. Not yet. Okay?”

 

“Whatever you say, doll,” he nods, as if it makes no difference.

 

“I’m with Zaara,” Steve asserts briskly.

 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Matt retorts, directing a bold gaze at Steve. The men stare each other down, and, even behind the dark glasses, it is as if one has issued the other a challenge.

 

“Well, I hadn’t thought of that,” Zaara admits, rubbing her chin. “Might be for the best, though. It’s going to have to happen sooner or later.”

 

“It could compromise us,” Matt objects and it is almost as if he is chastising her. Steve suddenly gets the distinct feeling that Murdock doesn’t want him around. Not when Zaara is in the picture. The angry rumblings return deep down in his gut.

 

“Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe it’s time all you boys grow up,” Zaara rolls her eyes. “And that includes Tony Stark. I get enough punchy-punchy from my three-year old. Savvy?”

 

Matt gives her a guilty grin. “I can protect the Captain. You don’t think Stark would hit a blind man, would you?”

 

Steve clenches his jaw but says nothing.

 

“Oh, and we need to make sure Colonel Rhodes is in attendance,” Zaara adds airily, as if she hasn’t noticed a thing. “Please put in a request when you contact them, Foggy.”

 

“Will do,” Foggy murmurs, tapping a rapid series of notes into his phone. “The injured Avenger, right?”

 

“Yes,” Zaara confirms. “I’m going to see what I can do for him.”

 

Foggy raises his eyebrows. “Do, do you trust them?” he stutters.

 

“It’s a gamble,” she acknowledges, all but ignoring the imploring expressions on Steve and Bucky’s faces.

 

“But it’s worth it,” Matt agrees. “Without the full team on our side, our case is weakened.”

 

“What will Storm say?” Foggy asks nervously.

 

“She already knows,” she shrugs.

 

“Just looking out for our clients’ _best interests_ ,” Matt replies, emphasizing the last couple of words so harshly that Steve sucks in his breath.

 

 

~

 

 

To Steve’s dismay, Zaara invites Matt and Foggy to join them for lunch in the privacy of her suite. The children are playing elsewhere in the mansion, so they set a table out on the balcony.

 

“Seems beautiful here,” Matt murmurs, his short brown hair billowing in light waves from the breeze. It is a perfectly stunning spring day. Problem is, the scent of two supersoldiers is all over the suite and the man otherwise known as the Daredevil can detect masculine pheromones hovering all around Zaara’s body. It's obvious to him both Steve and Bucky want to possess her, if they haven’t already, and he’s not sure he likes it. But Zaara is her own woman, he must admit, and he had to let her go since they both agreed their lives could never match up anyways. Still, he feels oddly protective of her and has a most disconcerting urge for the two of them to re-connect, despite his unstable lifestyle and the fact that she has two children. _Two strikes against me right off the bat,_ he reminds himself.

 

“It is,” she replies, taking his elbow to lead him to the table next to where Bucky sits. The former Winter Soldier stays quiet and looks on at Zaara with absolute trust, sitting absolutely still and simply breathing, content not to do a thing but wait on her, tend to her needs whenever she cares to present them to him. In this passive state, the intensity of his jealousy over Matt Murdock fades considerably.

 

Foggy, however, is getting more and more creeped out by it. Something about the former Winter Soldier sitting perfectly silent and still makes him feel rather afraid. Indeed, he can tell something peculiar is going on here, something dwells just below the surface between his new clients and Matt.

 

“So how’s your training coming?” the Daredevil suddenly asks in a manner that seems terribly intimate. Steve stares hard at him.

 

With her eyes locked on Steve, Zaara braces herself. “Wakanda was great, actually. I convinced one of the palace warriors to take me on.”

 

“Worked her pretty hard,” Bucky murmurs, to Foggy’s surprise. Zaara beams at him.

 

“She sure did,” Zaara agrees. “I could probably show you a few new moves.”

 

“Could you?” Matt asks in a tone that leaves Steve smoldering.

 

“Matt, uh, trains a lot in combat,” Zaara explains uncomfortably. “He, uh, taught me a bit of boxing once or twice. His dad was a champ.”

 

Steve nods slowly, but remains silent. _Never felt so jealous in my life. Now why the hell is that?_

 

Grateful for his silence, Zaara decides to play hostess and smiles brightly. “Well, let’s have lunch. When Matt and Foggy head home, we can have that talk with Sam, huh?”

 

“Taking all the Avengers under your wing?” Foggy asks in amusement.

 

She shrugs. “Can’t help it. Nature of the beast.”

 

“How’s that boy coming along? The one with the abdominal blasts?” Matt asks, and it is the first time he’s opened his mouth that doesn’t cause Steve to rage.

 

“Not much improvement, at least, not since I left for Wakanda,” she admits sadly. “Steve wants to try training him, though.”

 

“Don’t know about that,” Matt muses out loud, taking Steve by surprise. “There was a bad incident with Ms. Maximoff in Lagos, wasn’t there, Captain? It can be dangerous, mixing mutants with Avengers.”

 

“You _knew_ about Wanda?” Steve fumes.

 

“Shhh, Steve,” Zaara attempts to soothe him. “You know it’s complicated. I couldn’t reach out to Wanda until we were ready to reveal ourselves to all the Avengers.”

 

“And we don’t know if the tragedy could have been avoided,” Foggy adds.

 

“So what are you saying?” Steve demands.

 

“That maybe it’s best to leave the boy to Zaara,” Matt says stubbornly, invoking her privileged status within the group.

 

“I’ll be the judge of that, Matt,” she says softly. “Thank you. But I can tell you’re itching to see what I can do in the ring after training in Wakanda.”

 

Steve clenches his fists while Bucky bites his lip and narrows his eyes.

 

“Maybe,” Matt admits in a soft voice, staring at her imploringly, even behind dark glasses. “I’d love to have you show me some moves.”

 

Foggy gulps, his eyes dancing back and forth between the Captain, the Daredevil, and the Winter Soldier. Their skin flushes hot and their breathing accelerates. “Okay, now even _I’m_ getting turned on.”

 

Zaara loses her composure and drops her head into her hands. “Foggy.”

 

He shrugs helplessly.

 

“How about it, then?” Matt presses her shamelessly.

 

“Not this afternoon. I’ve got a couple more jobs to finish. But maybe I’ll show up in Hell’s Kitchen one of these days,” she looks up at him, blushing.

 

“Soon, I hope,” Matt murmurs darkly.

 

 _Not if I can help it,_ Steve swears to himself.

 

When lunch is over, Zaara takes Matt by the elbow and leads him to the far end of the balcony, away from the others. But Steve catches her words anyways. “Matt,” she begins carefully. “You know this can’t happen.”

 

“I know,” he whispers back, but his hand grips her forearm firmly, as if he needs her to guide him even though he requires nothing of the sort. “Can’t help it. Don’t know why.”

 

“I’ll see you at Stark Tower tomorrow,” she says, and gives him a peck on the cheek. Steve feels his insides burn. “Text me because if you can’t get through to them, I will.”

 

“I know,” he nods slowly, a flush of red sprouting from where her lips touched his skin. “Come on, Foggy. We’re heading out.”

 

Steve heaves a sigh of relief.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

“Can’t I come, doll?” Bucky implores.

 

“This’ll only take a few minutes,” she replies. “You can stay in the suite. You’ll be just fine. Pete’s bringing the kids back soon, anyways so I need you here.”

 

“Alright,” he sounds crestfallen.

 

Steve, however, feels absolutely delighted to finally have Zaara all to himself even if they are only walking down the busy hallways of the X-mansion with no privacy in sight. Indeed, they are heading for the parlour, also known as the staff lounge, to meet Sam. “I would have met him in the study,” she says. “But I don’t want to stress him out. We need to talk in a more casual environment. I’ve set privacy protocols so no one will interrupt us.”

 

“Can you tell me what it’s about?” Steve asks, though he actually doesn’t care. He just wants to be by her side—especially after the lunchtime debacle with Matt Murdock.

 

“Sam is going to need a friend,” she sighs, though he can tell she’s hiding a small smile. “I know you’ll be there for him.”

 

“It’s nothing bad, is it?” Steve asks abruptly, suddenly fearful for his friend. _God, all I think about is her when I’m supposed to be there for my team. What the hell’s been happening to me?_

 

“No. It isn’t,” she replies with a firm voice that surprises him.

 

“Okay,” he nods with uncertainty, willing himself to be quiet for the rest of their walk until they reach the parlour.

 

Sam isn’t there yet. Zaara takes a seat in a wingback chair facing away from the piano. Steve stays close, slavishly grateful to have her to himself a few moments longer.

 

“Can we talk about Nelson and Murdock?” he asks, resting his hand upon the wing of the chair. With his body looming up so much taller than hers, it could almost feel intimidating. Still, this is Steve, and Zaara is potently aware of his musculature, the vast size of his body, the blood pumping in his veins, the very life force that courses through him. His strength fascinates her, but it doesn’t frighten her. What frightened her was the thought he might use it against Matt. _That wouldn’t have been like Captain America._ _And he doesn’t really feel like Captain America right now, either._ Indeed, this man feels like Steve, the man who desires her very deeply, the man she is determined not to love.

 

“Which one do you want to talk about first?” she asks pointedly. “Or were you referring to Bucky’s case?”

 

Steve frowns bitterly. “Well . . .” he hems, uncertain of how much to admit.

 

“Is there a problem with our legal team?” she asks pointedly.

 

“You’re sure they’re the best?” he asks sheepishly.

 

“Of course they are,” she snorts. “I just got the distinct feeling that you don’t like Matt.”

 

“I like Foggy,” he replies defensively.

 

“So you _didn’t_ like Matt,” she retorts. “And what did he do to deserve your ire?”

 

 _He wanted you,_ Steve thinks, but instead he sighs. “Nothing. I just go with my gut.”

 

“Alright,” she says kindly, remembering his words from last night, the very real thrill she felt when he admitted he wanted to take care of her. She dimly recalls that scene from the movie they watched in Wakanda, the one where the marine proposed to the nun, and it pierces her heart. _It’s not his fault, these feelings. He tries so hard to be perfect._ “Of course you want Bucky to have the best. Nelson and Murdock are completely trustworthy, Steve. They’ve defended veterans in the past. No one can beat Foggy’s strategizing. And no one can get through to a jury like Matt.”

 

 _No. Matt Murdock’s not trustworthy—not when it comes to you, doll,_ he thinks. But she doesn’t read it. “Okay,” he sighs, resigned. “I don’t want to end up in court any more than you. Or Bucky.”

 

She strokes his hand lightly where it rests on her chair and he suppresses a shiver. Her touch always devastates him. “It’ll be alright, Steve. I’ll look after Bucky, protect him no matter what happens. I promise.” She gazes up at him with eyes so soft and sincere and he is undone. But before he can get a grip on himself, Sam enters the room.

 

“Cap,” he says briskly with his usual good cheer though Steve can tell he’s nervous. They’ve been on enough missions together so he knows when something’s up with his wingman.

 

“Mr. Wilson,” Zaara says quietly. “Don’t be afraid.”

 

Sam gulps and his eyes widen. “Why’m I here?”

 

“Because you belong here,” she replies solemnly.

 

“Aw, man, that’s it,” Sam throws up his hands and heads for the door.

 

“Sam!” Steve calls, running after him. “What’s wrong? Zaara? What’s going on?”

 

The door closes before Sam can reach it and, at the same time, a window swings open. Zaara blinks evenly. “Call one, Sam. Show him,” she says gently but insistently.

 

“Show him what?” Panic enters Sam’s body and Steve has never seen him this way before, not even in a firefight. Almost nothing makes Sam lose his cool—only the Winter Soldier ripping out the steering wheel in his car could do that. He’s one of the toughest soldiers Steve’s ever known. Calm and collected, always showing courage under fire, and Steve is bewildered. _What could be scaring him like this? Something to do with mutants?_

“Call one,” Zaara repeats. “Show him. Please.”

 

Steve grabs him by the arm to steady him. “What’s happening?” he demands.

 

“Steve,” Zaara’s voice is nearly a whisper. “Let him go. He can do this. He’s brave.”

 

Sam stares hard at Zaara and trembles like he’s seen a ghost. “ _No_.”

 

“Why are you afraid?” she asks. “You’ve never run away from anything in your life. You’re a soldier. Why now?”

 

“You’re wrong,” Sam protests, his heart pounding in his chest. “Whatever you’re thinking, you’re _wrong.”_

 

“Because of what happened to Riley?” she asks. “Is that why you don’t want to face the truth? Because you were the only one that survived the Falcon program?”

 

Steve directs his gaze back to her in horror, intimately familiar with Sam’s loss, so similar to what he went through with Bucky. _Where the hell is she going with this?_

 

“Trust me,” Zaara remains calm in her seat. “You know the truth. Your survival wasn’t an accident. It happened for a good reason.”

 

“Nah,” Sam shakes his head and gazes down at the floor, a tear escaping his eye. “I was just like everyone else. I was nothin’ special.”

 

“Call one,” she insists again. “Show him.”

 

“NO,” he replies, angrier.

 

“Stubborn,” she snorts. “Just like Steve.” And Steve glances at her in surprise, distraught over his friend’s pain and completely ignorant of where the hell this is all going. “Fine. I’ll do it myself.” Zaara sits up straight and readies herself but in the next heartbeat, an enormous bird of prey glides in through the window and perches on top of her wingback chair.

 

 _“Shit!”_ Zaara cries and literally falls onto the floor, covering her face with her hands. Terrified, her body shakes and, before she is able to calm herself, Steve swoops her up into his arms to shield her from the massive vulture perching on her chair. It spreads its voluminous wings and hisses at them. To be bound once again in Steve’s powerful arms takes her breath away, but Sam says nothing so, after a few gasps of air, she gets hold of herself. Propping herself up on her knees and using Steve to balance, she cackles. “Ha! It figures you’d call one of the scary ones. Next time, get a cute one instead. Okay?”

 

Sam looks smug. “Well, if you’re gonna out me, I’mma stand up for myself.”

 

Zaara rolls her eyes, but Steve still doesn’t understand so she gazes up at him with compassion. “Avian senses.”

 

“Avian senses?” Steve repeats, helping her to her feet. “What are you saying?”

 

“Tell him, Sam. You know you can trust him,” Zaara urges.

 

“I’m . . . a mutant,” Sam admits with great reluctance.

 

“A mutant?” Steve asks, shocked.

 

“Class two. Telepathy, avian senses, and inter-species communication,” Zaara pronounces with authority.

 

 _“Class two?”_ Sam suddenly sounds like his old self again, though it doesn’t fool Steve. “Nah, it’s class three or bust.”

 

Zaara giggles. “Well, if you say so. But you’ll need to work up to it. You’ve never practiced, have you?”

 

“He’s a telepath? With avian senses?” Steve repeats with shock.

 

“A low-level telepath, like my girls in Wakanda,” Zaara clarifies. “Not much more above a class one in _that_ department, if you ask me. But it’s enough to affect his choices, shape his life. Isn’t it?”

 

Sam stands stoically still and puts on his best poker face.

 

“Right,” she sighs. “You’re a social worker, aren’t you? Low level telepaths tend to be attracted to careers in social work or psychotherapy. Helping people makes them feel good, and of course they have excellent instincts about personal problems.”

 

Sam snorts.

 

Steve recalls his first meeting with the man otherwise known as the Falcon. _Sam had me pegged right off the bat, like he was reading me, knew everything I was feeling. We got to be friends so fast, I trusted him so quickly. I knew I could put my life in his hands when Hydra came for me._

 

“It’s the avian senses that could push him up to a class three,” Zaara continues. “That is, if he hones them. I’ve never seen anything like it, actually.”

 

“Oh, do tell,” Sam says sarcastically, and even Steve sees it for what it is: a defensive maneuver.

 

“Your avian senses grant you superior functions in the Falcon gear: maneuverability, endurance, stability ordinary humans lack in the air,” she tells him succinctly. “It’s no coincidence you made it and Riley didn’t. You have bird senses, as best as I can explain it. Flying’s second nature to you. You’re more comfortable in air than on land. And it allows you to . . . to extend your telepathy to birds, as far as I can tell. You can’t read humans in quite the same way, but when you apply your avian abilities to telepathy, you can communicate with, uh, birds of a feather.”

 

For once, Sam is speechless.

 

Storm quietly enters the parlour.

 

“Ororo, welcome,” Zaara grins, even with Steve keeping a protective arm around her waist. It is entirely unnecessary, but Zaara doesn’t stop him. Steve tells himself that mangy looking vulture is the reason for it.

 

“Zaara,” Storm nods and considers the vulture. Though it is not by any means the strangest thing she has ever seen in the X-mansion, she frowns. “I’m not going to find droppings on the furniture, am I?”

 

“Send him out, Sam,” Zaara chastises him gently.

 

“Uh-uh. _You_ do it.” The wayward Avenger shakes his head slowly, defiance one of his favorite defensive maneuvers.

 

“ _Can_ you?” asks Steve, though he knows Zaara probably can do anything with those powers of hers. _Class five and all._

 

“I can try,” she shrugs. “I just don’t like reading animal’s minds. They’re sort of basic. It’s all food, sleep, and sex . . .” As if on cue Steve blushes, but she continues. “And when I tell them to do something, I always feel bad, like I’m interfering with their instincts. Especially when it comes to the wild ones.”

 

“He ain’t bein’ interfered with,” Sam finally speaks up, defensive again but for a different reason.

 

“I’ll take your word on that,” Zaara smiles, glancing at Storm. _He’s starting to accept the truth._ “You probably get more nuanced readings than I do . . .” she glances over at Steve. “I’d really rather not read the mind of a scavenger if I can help it. They’re, uh, pretty gross.”

 

Steve grins.

 

“I got this,” Sam rolls his eyes, terribly conscious that he is working his magic in front of Storm. “Bye, buddy.”

 

The enormous vulture spreads its wings, the span of which shocks all four of them, and hovers over the chair.

 

“Please don’t tear the upholstery,” Zaara finds herself begging out loud as the gigantic bird of prey gradually achieves lift, its talons lightly hooked into the fabric. It flies directly towards them, its sharp, blackened beak leading the way before it can pull up and turn itself around, heading out the window. Sam releases the beast and they all watch it disappear into the bright air.

 

“Phew,” Zaara says in relief as she moves away from Steve (to his dismay) and examines the chair. There are several distinct holes in the fabric, but no tears so she strokes it, trying to soothe the fibres back into place. “Looks like we won’t have to reupholster. Let me see if I can close these holes.” Shutting her eyes, she concentrates and the small holes close, leaving the wingback in pristine condition.

 

“Next time, not in the house,” Storm looks at Sam hard, then makes her exit.

 

“Why’d she come?” Sam asks, feeling good about his success. He’d hate to have failed in front of her.

 

“Because she always does,” Zaara answers him casually. “It’s her job. So, do you want to talk now or later? I can set you up for some training if you’d like. Needless to say, you can have a home with us, like Wanda.”

 

 _“Wanda?”_ Sam almost squeaks, and Steve has to suppress a smile.

 

“Yes. Of course. _Wanda._ You should have known. She's a mutant just like you,” Zaara tsks tsks. “She’s staying with us for the foreseeable future. You, however, have more options. You can go back out in the world. Pass, just like you’ve done all your life. You’ve been very skillful at concealing your mutation, I give you that. You can go on living the life you want. You can even be an Avenger again, if we manage to patch things up. Or, you can explore your powers, build a life here. Or maybe even do both—it’s really up to you.”

 

Sam gulps.

 

“Take your time, Sam,” Steve moves over to squeeze his arm. “It’s a big decision. And you can always change your mind. I know they can help you here, help you sort through all this if that’s what you want.”

 

“What I want . . .” Sam muses, surprised by the luxury of such a thought. “I thought I wanted to be an Avenger.”

 

“And we’re going to see about that tomorrow,” Zaara nods. “Steve and I. But this is about you and you alone. Like Steve said, take your time. It’s a great opportunity and every mutant is lucky to have it. That’s what this place is all about. You can take what you learn and return to the world, or you can stay here with us and build a life at the school, maybe even get invited to join the X-men . . .”

 

 _“Invited?”_ Sam scoffs, sounding more like his usual self.

 

“Well, you Avengers tend to let in all the riff-raff,” she giggles. “We X-men are a little more selective.”

 

“I wouldn’t wanna join any club that would have _me_ as a member,” Steve adds playfully, borrowing one of Bucky’s favourite lines from Groucho Marx.

 

When Sam heads for the privacy of his room to consider the path ahead, Zaara turns to Steve and sighs. “Well, that’s that.”

 

“You think he’s alright?” Steve asks out of concern, though he trusts Sam deeply.

 

“You’re a better judge of that than I am,” she retorts. “I try to give them privacy. He’ll learn it, too, if he trains with the triplets.”

 

 _“The triplets?”_ Steve is aghast. “You don’t mean that, that gaggle of giggling girls I’ve been seeing around?”

 

“I do,” Zaara laughs. “They’re my trainees, and Sam will be, too, if he wants it. Just like my girls in Wakanda. We’ll be the only telepaths in the school. And Sam is completely unique, by the way. He’s the only avian telepath I’ve ever known.”

 

Steve nods, not sure what to say. Suddenly, an idea occurs to him. “What about Wanda?”

 

“Not a telepath, strictly speaking,” Zaara says smoothly, heading towards the door. “But I can explain that later. We’ve still got our session with Bucky, and then I have one last thing to do before we call it a night. And I’ll need your help.”

 

“I’ll do whatever you like,” Steve smiles, always happy to help out, but secretly thrilled at the prospect of spending more time with her now that Matt Murdock has left the building.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

During playtime, Zaara gives Henry his reminder that he’ll be back in preschool tomorrow, but Steve and Bucky play hard, as if tomorrow will never come. Finally, they leave the children with Rogue and head back to the Professor’s study for Bucky's session. To Steve’s delight, Betsy proves to be quite a powerful telepath and, with Zaara’s help, they rid Bucky of two words in one shot, leaving only six planted in his mind. Alex stays with them the whole time, with Bucky’s permission. He is rather protective of Betsy (even though she is quite a fighter on her own), and Steve takes the opportunity to inquire about Theo in his hope to help care for the boy once Alex and Betsy head back west.

 

All three are tired out. With only six words left to go, Zaara longs to have Betsy remain on at the school so they can finish the job quickly. But Betsy has her own life to return to and Zaara cannot begrudge her that. After all, the class five mutant has one last job to complete before the day is done, a job that will involve Steve.

 

Following a long discussion with Storm, the X-men have officially decided to trust Steve Rogers with one of their oldest secrets. Indeed, with the Professor gone, they are at a bit of a loss when it comes to the use of Cerebro, the X-men’s global telepathic interface. Although Charles Xaviar established very clear protocols long ago (which Zaara still follows as best she can), she finds the work mentally taxing and emotionally draining. Cerebro was not designed according to her unique specifications, after all, and even Jean Grey had difficulty adapting to the interface. But she has a few specific tasks she must attend to on a recurring basis and, tonight, Steve, as a representative for the Avengers, will be privy to them.

 

“I’ve gotta warn you, Steve, this is a big discussion that’s only just begun,” she says, having left Bucky in the charge of Betsy and Alex. “It’s going to continue well into the future. There’s a lot of layers to this onion.”

 

“Alright,” Steve agrees, mystified. “When can we talk?”

 

“When we pass through security,” she assures him. He follows her deep down into the X-men headquarters, through corridor after corridor until they read a strange pentagonal metal door imprinted with an X. Zaara kneels down and Steve recognizes the tech as a retinal scan. Soon, several layers of doors open to reveal a cavernous ravine composed of metal with a central walkway ending in a circular platform. An odd-looking control panel with an even odder set of headgear rests on the dais at the end of it.

 

“Don’t move a muscle,” Zaara warns, seating herself at the console. With a sigh, she affixes the contraption onto her head and, suddenly, Steve is swept away by something he can only describe as a virtual reality or video game of galaxies. Or even, Steve has to admit, some sort of cheesy version of a planetarium.

 

“OK, I’m just following protocols for now,” Zaara murmurs. “Doing my checklist. Betsy was here last night, so we’re up to date.” Images whoosh by too quickly for Steve to absorb, so many people and places he can barely focus in on one before another swirls by. Things seem to come in and out of focus, but he notices an distinct pause upon a singular figure that resembles a hulking monster of a man.

 

“Ugh,” Zaara groans. “That’s it. We’re done. It’s over.” She removes the headgear and wipes her brow wearily. “This technology is called Cerebro. It can only be used by high-level telepaths. It allows us to read anyone and anything anywhere in the world.”

 

Steve gasps audibly.

 

“Yeah,” she nods. “I know. And we can do all kinds of things with it—from reading minds to putting ideas in people’s heads. But we follow strict rules. We don’t interfere in 99% of things. Most of my work is keeping an eye out for global threats, so I watch the World Security Council, a few other key agencies, and some dangerous mutants. But you can imagine what would happen if Hydra or even the government knew about this. The military, the police—everyone would want a cut.”

 

Steve nods, just beginning to fathom all the implications.

 

“So, I use it to watch over the world. To protect it,” she clarifies. “But I’m not God. It tires me out, mentally and emotionally. I wish I could use it to stop all the bad things in the world from happening, but I can’t. I could never cover it all. Where do I begin and where does it all end? It’s too hard to draw that line. But it doesn’t free me from the burden of wishing I could. What if I could have stopped the bomb that killed King T’Chaka?”

 

Her words make him long to enfold her in his arms. _It’s too much. Too much to bear on your own._

 

She rises from her seat. The doors slide open and she leads the way out of Cerebro.

 

“So, this is what you deal with every day,” Steve sighs, compassion pouring over him. _How the hell does she do it? It’s the literal weight of the world on her shoulders._

 

“Yeah. Well, almost every day,” Zaara clarifies, not liking the tender way he’s looking at her, as if he’s about to take her in his arms to soothe her. _I don’t need him to do that for me. I can handle this on my own._ “It’s just, I can’t do it every day. It’s hard. I need time to recover. So, I’m on a schedule; I go every other day, sometimes every couple of days. At least three times a week. But I’m working to build up my endurance, in case something big goes down. So I can keep on it.”

 

“How big?” Steve asks, his eyes boring into her.

 

“Well,” she frowns. “Something like a Chitauri attack. Or Ultron. A nuclear threat, maybe.”

 

“A nuclear threat?” he seems incredulous and she wonders why.

 

 _“Of course,”_ she scolds him. “You _know_ what’s been happening in the world. I have checkpoints. The Professor established them long before I came around. And I added more, after what you Avengers have been up to.”

 

“That sounds like a lot to keep track of,” he sounds doubtful. “You said this machine exhausts you. What if you’re taking on too much?”

 

“What if I’m not taking on _enough?”_ she asks, despair crushing her.

 

“Zaara,” Steve demurs. “You said it yourself. You’re not God. And you’re not Shield. No one can be—not any one person. Not by themselves.”

 

She blinks, suddenly near tears. “I have to. After everything that’s happened, I can’t ignore it anymore. Too many close calls . . .”

 

Biting his lip, Steve takes the risk and pulls her close to him. She doesn’t resist. “Zaara—is this why you don’t want someone in your life? Is it all the work you do, the pressure you put on yourself?”

 

Fighting back now, she trembles. How badly she wants to let him embrace her but he’s still only holding her arms, his huge hands cupping her elbows, their forearms pressing against each other. She stifles a sob. _What the hell do I say, Steve? That I could pulverize you with a thought? That if the Phoenix came back, if it chose me, you wouldn’t stand a chance? That I’d hate myself, couldn’t live with myself, if you died?_

 

“Zaara.” Steve brings his face closer to hers. “Bucky said you kissed him.”

 

“Kissed who?” Zaara is taken aback by the sudden change of subject. “What are you talking about?”

 

“Matt Murdock.” To have that name pass through his lips stirs up his rage all over again, but he quells it.

 

“What the hell?” she whispers. “Did Bucky say something?”

 

“Yes. He did. And he told me,” Steve continues, unabashed. “He saw it in your mind. Look, I know I got no right to be jealous. I just want to know why.”

 

It takes her a moment to fathom how he got his information, to realize that Bucky read her, saw her memory of kissing Matt Murdock, and shared it with him. _Traitor._ But she’s looking at Steve’s face the whole time, transfixed by the vulnerability in his gaze. _He cares about me—too much. What have I done to him?_ And, to her surprise, her heart aches for him even if part of her wants to tell him to back the hell off and don’t tell her what to do, it’s none of his damn business who she kisses. But this is Steve. And she is fighting not to fall head over heels in love with him, fighting her gut that tells her he _needs_ her answer. Badly. And that he longs for her. Terribly.

 

_He doesn’t mean it, the way it sounds. He’s not some sexist pig. It’s coming from a good place. He can’t help himself._

 

“Steve,” she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, ever conscious of the warmth of his hands upon her arms. “I know you care about me and you don’t mean anything bad by it. So I’ll tell you. Yes, Matt wanted a relationship with me. But I broke it off, stopped it before it ever started.”

 

He heaves a sigh of relief and she looks up, watching as every muscle in his body relaxes, unleashing the tension that had been building up all afternoon. It melts her heart. She hates to see him suffer.

 

“But you kissed him,” Steve whispers in protest, his puppydog expression only adding to her guilt.

 

“ _He_ kissed _me_ ,” she corrects him, unable to resist giving him the whole truth. “I never kissed him back. I stopped it before it went anywhere. Alright?”

 

A smug smile slowly grows upon his mouth.

 

“Can we stop talking about this now?” she asks, unnerved by that smile. “There’s really nothing left to tell.”

 

Restraining his smile, he moves his mouth closer to hers. “Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you. Right now.”

 

Zaara’s jaw drops. “Steve? This is not like you . . .”

 

“No. No, it isn’t,” he agrees, not understanding what’s come over him. He’s so happy right now, with a sense of boldness and daring he’s never felt around a woman. “So tell me. Tell me you don’t _want_ me to kiss you.” His lips move closer to hers and she can feel his incredible breath trace over them like a caress.

 

She doesn’t move.

 

He comes even closer. “I won’t do it, though. I won’t kiss you. But _you_ can kiss me. I won’t stop you.”

 

And she’s caught, scenting his incredible breath, drowning in the blue of his eyes, the fleshy warmth of his skin which starts to glow in a subtle sort of way. _Like a dream._ And before she can stop herself, she moves even closer and he tilts his jaw downwards so she can reach his lips, his hands moving from her elbows onto the small of her back. And suddenly she is kissing him, feeling those pulpy, masculine lips between her own, sucking their amazing taste into her mouth and her ears detect a deep rumble in the back of his throat.

 

_Stop. I need to stop this. Oh, God._

But she only puts more of herself into the kiss, tilting her head and opening her mouth so that his tongue gently pushes its tip inside and suddenly dances with hers, tickling her tastebuds while every nerve in her body starts to tingle. She brings her hands up to his chest, her fingertips brushing his throat and feels his Adam’s apple when he swallows, taking her taste inside of him.

 

_No. This can’t happen. Stop it—now. Or I’ll never be able to stop._

 

With all the courage she can muster, she grasps his biceps (which are like smooth, round rocks) and forces her body away from his. Panting and still feeling the taste of him in her mouth, she cannot help but stare at him as he releases her with his smug face and reddened cheeks, eyes hooded and staring hard right back at her.

 

_Jackass._

 

“ _I_ didn’t do it, remember?” he manages to avoid laughing, but just barely. _“You_ kissed _me._ ”

 

“ _Not. Funny.”_ She drops her hands down and puts them on her hips. “This _never_ happened.”

 

“Didn’t it?” he chuckles softly, but he’s dead serious. Even with his supreme sense of satisfaction, he has no desire to poke fun or take any further advantage of her obvious weakness. “But we can forget about it if you like.”

 

“I’d like to,” she pouts, and Steve has to suppress a snicker.

 

“What’s so funny?” she demands, the little ball of anger in her chest battling with the rest of her body’s desire for him.

 

“Nothin’,” he demurs, biting his lower lip. It still tastes like her. “I’m, I’m just glad you didn’t date Matt.”

 

“He’s a good man, Steve,” Zaara has no idea why she’s telling him this. She just needs him to know. “Matt has done tremendous things for Hell’s Kitchen. He’s helped the poor and the vulnerable more times than I can count, put himself in so much danger for them. He’s a real hero.”

 

“I don’t think he’d make a good father,” Steve mutters bitterly, though it makes him feel ashamed of himself. “I don’t know why I said that—I’m sorry.”

 

“He’d probably agree with you, actually,” Zaara admits. “But I can tell you really don’t like him.”

 

“Nah,” Steve shakes his head. “I’m kind of jealous, I guess.” It shocks him to admit it, to have his feelings for her out in the open like this, even after confessing how he longs to take care of her the way he did on the Blackbird.

 

“Jealous?”

 

“Over you,” he clarifies, butterflies in his belly. “I guess I might as well say it since you know the way I feel about you. But we don’t have to talk about it anymore, if you don’t want to.”

 

She blushes and looks away.

 

“Like I said last night—I don’t want to make you uncomfortable in your own home. This ends here—if you want it to,” he asserts, taking a step away from her, being his better self once again. He reads the expression on her face. It’s full of regret. “Bucky comes first.”

 

“Alright,” she agrees quietly. “Then let’s get back to Bucky.”

 

He follows her down the long corridors until they reach the elevator. When they go inside, he notices a different expression on her face. She seems bereft. “Zaara,” he hits the stop button. “Nothing’s set in stone. Things can change.”

 

She smiles at him sadly and nods. Suddenly, she throws her arms around him and gives him a brief squeeze. Her touch has traces of electricity in it, but it also emotes a hint of sorrow--as if she is saying good-bye to a friend. She releases him, turns her back to him, and re-starts the elevator. It takes them swiftly up to the level of the mansion.

 

“Things go back to normal from here,” she informs him, just before stepping out of the elevator door.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

“What the hell happened tonight?” Bucky demands once they are in bed together, the door shut tight. He’s feeling especially chipper, relieved to have almost half of Hydra’s words wiped from his mind and Zaara back in the suite with him.

 

“What do you mean?” Steve turns onto his side and faces away from his best friend, pulling the covers up over his bare shoulder. For some reason, he found himself wanting to sleep shirtless tonight. That almost never happens.

 

“She’s off,” Bucky tries to explain. “Her feelings . . .”

 

“What about them?” Steve murmurs, trying to hide his curiosity.

 

“You, you broke through,” Bucky realizes with wonder, and the vision suddenly appears to him. _Zaara must be thinking about it._ “You _made_ her kiss you.”

 

“You _saw_ that?” Steve asks, chewing on his lip.

 

“Hell, yeah,” Bucky confirms. “It’s the only thing on her mind tonight.”

 

“Did she like it?” Steve asks, and the question sends a thrill of excitement not only through his body, but Bucky’s, too.

 

“Yeah. _A lot_ ,” Bucky sucks in his breath. “She’s afraid, Steve. Never knew how scared she was. Not ‘til now.”

 

“Her walls came down,” Steve nods. “Must be why you could read her.”

 

“It’s been a hell of a day,” Bucky sighs. “And tomorrow’s gonna be just as crazy, if she’s heading to Stark Tower.”

 

“I’m going with her,” Steve announces with determination.

 

“That won’t exactly make things _easier_ for her, punk,” Bucky chastises him.

 

Steve feels guilty. “You’re right.”

 

“Quit playin’ games,” Bucky shakes his head in disapproval.

 

“I ain’t playin’ games,” Steve protests. “I’m dead serious, Buck. I think I love this girl.”

 

Bucky lies silent a few moments. Finally, he summons the wherewithal to speak. “Okay. Alright. You mean it. Then you gotta put her first, Steve.”

 

“Always,” Steve agrees. He rolls over and faces his friend, rests his hand upon his bare bicep. His skin is warm, running the high temperature of a supersoldier, its smoothness contrasting with the rock-hard muscle beneath. “And you tell me if I don’t. Agreed?”

 

“Agreed,” Bucky’s voice falters undone by the contact, still unused to being touched, to having people care about him.

 

“I know you care about her too, Buck,” Steve’s voice drops down to a whisper.

 

“More than I can say,” Bucky nods, his eyes glistening. “I just want the two of you to be happy . . . As long as Murdock keeps his distance.”

 

Steve gulps. “You felt that, too?” He drops his hand away.

 

“Couldn’t stand him,” Bucky confesses. “Thank God nothing happened between him and Zaara. I’d have had to murder him or something. And I’m supposed to be reformed.”

 

Steve chuckles darkly. “Don’t worry. I’d have got to him first. The way I feel for this girl, Buck—even the kids. They’re on my mind night and day. Murdock would never put them first.”

 

“No,” Bucky agrees. “No one cares about those kids the way we do. I feel it too, Steve. So, if you want to go for it, do it.”

 

“I’m gonna give her more time,” Steve demurs. “It’s so hard on her. I need to know why.”

 

“I’ll figure it out,” Bucky says with determination. “She said she’d tether me to Rogue tomorrow. That’s her best friend. She’s gotta know somethin’. She’ll want to help her, she’ll know we care about her.”

 

“Okay,” Steve agrees. “Tell her we just want to understand. That’s all.”

 

“Alright,” Bucky sighs, getting tired. “Don’t dream too much, pal.”

 

“I won’t,” Steve promises, but his heart won’t agree. All through the night, he imagines her face, the warm, sweet taste of her lips on his. The way she so willingly put her mouth on his own, the exquisite rush that flowed through his body, the burning sensation that she _belongs_ to him melting into his overwhelming urge to take care of her, soothe her, make her happy, and he wonders if this is what it means to be in love. By now, his time with Zaara, the sheer number of hours they have spent at each other’s side outnumber his hours with Peggy though numbers are, at best, a crude way of explaining it.

 

He is besotted with her.

 

And he never wants it to stop.

 

 

 

 


	16. Someone to Watch Over Me

_There’s a somebody I’m longin’ to see_

_I hope that he turns out to be_

_Someone to watch over me._

_I’m a little lamb who’s lost in the wood_

_I know I could_

_Always be good_

_To one who’ll watch over me._

_Although he may not be the man some_

_Girls think of as handsome_

_To my heart he carries the key._

_Won’t you tell him please to put on some speed_

_Follow my lead_

_Oh, how I need_

_Someone to watch over me._

 

 

“Now, don’t you worry none, Sergeant Barnes,” Rogue croons, taking his prosthetic hand in hers. It’s convenient, after all, since there can be no actual skin contact between them this way. Bucky senses the weight of her, the delicate way her slender fingers clasp his metal arm even though it lacks the interface of his Hydra arm. Rogue, of course, wears gloves as usual. Early in the morning after they dropped Henry off at school, Zaara had taken both men to meet Forge. The introverted mutant (who almost never joins them for dinner and rarely even leaves his lab) had been full of questions about the interface between Bucky’s Hydra arm and his brain. It made Bucky nervous to reveal so much to a stranger, but Zaara seemed pleased with the whirlwind of technical mumbo jumbo coursing through Forge’s genius mind. It led her to suspect Bucky’s new arm would be ready within a couple of weeks. Indeed, Forge always loves a challenge. But for now, Rogue clings to the simple prosthetic arm T’Challa bestowed on Bucky in Wakanda.

 

“There. All done,” Zaara pronounces with a sigh, affixing a telepathic tether between the mutant and the supersoldier. “Marie will take good care of you, Bucky.”

 

“May I call you Marie?” Bucky asks gently as he quickly adapts to the new link between their minds. _This dame is so sweet—really more of a Marie than a Rogue. No wonder they're best friends._  “Don’t worry—I don’t mind calling you Rogue, if that’s what you really want.”

 

She blushes and looks down. “Well, if you’re more comfortable with Marie, you can stick with it, I guess.”

 

He smiles and squeezes her hand with his prosthetic.

 

“You can talk telepathically now, you know,” Zaara reminds them, looking both pleased and a slight shade embarrassed. _They sort of like each other._

 

“I know,” Rogue agrees, but her eyes return to Bucky. “Whatever Sergeant Barnes prefers.”

 

“Call me Bucky. Please,” he says, eyes locked on hers.

 

Steve smiles to see the expression on his best friend’s face. _Rogue seems like a nice girl. Might be a good match for Bucky—except for that skin problem._ Indeed, he glances over at Zaara and notices a mixed expression on her face; a cautious patch of optimism with a slight twist of foreboding.

 

“Don’t worry, Sergeant Barnes—I, I mean Bucky,” Rogue chuckles. “We don’t have to look that deep. I’ve been tethered before. We can keep it light, if that’s easier. I don’t have anything to hide.”

 

_Whatever you say, doll._

 

Rogue’s smile grows bigger.

 

“Alright, we’re heading out. Enjoy your little tete-a-tete,” Zaara smiles knowingly, for a tether is an intimate thing. And she couldn’t think of anyone better to share one with than Rogue. _Those two have a lot in common,_ she realizes with chagrin. Still, she hopes Bucky doesn’t probe too deeply, for it was exceedingly kind of Rogue to agree to the tether in the first place. Zaara could have asked Pete or even Bobby to do it. But Rogue had been tethered to Logan briefly, long ago, and has some experience dealing with supersoldiers who refer to themselves as killing machines. She’s well-equipped to deal with any of Bucky’s woes—as well as his strengths. Indeed, the former Winter Soldier can’t move more than ten feet away from her at any given time.

 

Having waited patiently, Steve finds himself moving close to Zaara now. He rests his hands lightly upon her shoulders. “We’ll see you two later."

 

Zaara fights the tremble that always comes with his touch. Taking a deep breath, she wills herself to keep things professional. “Alright. I’ll catch you up in the car.” She lets him drive, telling him she’s always been lazy about that sort of thing. “Besides,” she adds. “I hate talking while I’m driving. This way, I don’t have to shut up.”

 

“Talk away,” Steve says with amusement. _I could listen to the sound of your voice all day._

 

“You alright, after this morning’s drop-off?” Zaara asks, and he frowns.

 

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, though he sounds unconvinced. He hated leaving Henry at that nursery school. Sure, it looked like a safe, happy place. Lots of kids laughing and playing, friendly teachers all about, colourful classrooms and an enormous jungle gym under the shade of old growth trees. In fact, he couldn’t imagine a more perfect nursery school if he tried. But the act of leaving Henry there, the reality of being apart from him for the span of six whole hours—leaves him feeling nervous. And vulnerable. _How does she do it every day, leave him there so far away?_ But in fact, the drive only took 10 minutes.

 

“He loves school, you know,” Zaara sighs, as if she hasn’t already said so several times. “He _needs_ activity.”

 

“There’s plenty to do at the Xaviar School,” Steve protests as he pulls the huge Mercedes out of the long, private driveway. Some part of him wonders why Zaara chose this car, but he figures it’s just because it has the kids’ carseats and she probably always uses it anyways. Besides, it boasts plenty of leg room. The only car he’s ever driven that was anywhere near as big was a tank back in ’44.

 

She chuckles. “You’re acting like a parent, Steve. Sounds like you really miss him.” Her voice seems wistful. _Like he's a father or something._

 

“I do,” Steve admits shamelessly, surprised at himself. He doesn’t mind that she knows. “I don’t think I’ve been away from him for more than three hours since the day we met. Except,” he adds, tilting his head. “Maybe that night at the State Dinner.”

 

“Ugh,” Zaara groans. “You had to bring that up again?”

 

"Sorry,” he apologizes sheepishly, though he loves the memory of it. “It turned out well enough at the end. Didn’t it?”

 

“I try not to think about it,” she says softly, referring more to their midnight swim in the moonlight than the actual dinner.

 

Steve sighs. “Sorry. Guess I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

 

“It’s alright,” she steals a glance at him while his eyes are fixed on the road. “But I’d better give you the heads-up since Stark isn’t expecting us.”

 

“Isn’t he?” Steve asks, glancing quickly at her in surprise.

 

“He’s expecting Nelson and Murdock,” she explains patiently.

 

He frowns. “Alright then.”

 

“I expect you to be on your best behavior around Matt, by the way,” she says pointedly.

 

“I’ll do my best,” he sighs.

 

“Do better,” she counters. “I’m going to have enough trouble dealing with Tony Stark as it is. I can’t be worried about you and Matt going at it over whatever it is that’s bothering you.”

 

“You mean _you_ ,” he mutters.

 

“What?”

 

“Never mind,” Steve shakes his head. “Tony’s still gotta be real angry with me, you know.”

 

“I’m not even going to try to fix that,” Zaara sighs. “We’re bringing him an olive branch. My only hope is to make him think with his head instead of his heart—for once.”

 

“And how are you going to do that?” he asks, a tinge of worry in his voice. _What the hell does she have in mind? Doesn’t she know how badly it all went down after Zemo? He destroyed us._

 

“Well, if I can help Rhodie heal, even a little bit . . .” she says slowly. “And, if he’ll take it as a peace offering, then maybe we can reunite the Avengers.”

 

“Zaara,” Steve shakes his head. “I don’t know if I can _be_ an Avenger again.”

 

“The world needs you, Steve,” she says quietly, though it somehow makes her mourn. “It’s who you are. I read your mind once, remember? _You_ were the first Avenger. Everything they are, their whole purpose, comes from _you._ ”

 

“I wouldn’t say that,” he demurs.

 

“What I mean is . . .” she pauses and struggles to find the right words. “I _know_ who you are, Steve. And I know what the Avengers have done with you at the helm. The world _does_ need you. Besides, Thor’s been popping up all over the place, talking about cosmic threats . . .”

 

 _“Thor?”_ Steve slams on the brakes and Zaara is grateful they are driving on a deserted country road.

 

“Yes, _Thor_ ,” she replies, noticing he has his hand upon her thigh. He grabbed her there in a vice grip when he hit the brakes. “I found him on Cerebro a few times. He’s sort of hard to miss, not being human and all.”

 

“Oh,” Steve relaxes slightly, though he is still perturbed. “Where the hell has he been?”

 

“Well,” she begins carefully while Steve starts up the car again. “Last night, I saw him pop up in New York, in the Village. But he disappeared pretty quickly, vanished like he always does. I saw him a few times before I went to Wakanda, and Betsy told me she’s seen him in a couple other countries while I was out of town.”

 

“Where?” Steve asks, having an urgent need to know.

 

“Uh, Sweden and Norway, I think,” she replies. “And New York. He vanishes pretty quickly. He’s worried about those power stones. Maybe we should mention it to Stark.”

 

“Probably,” Steve agrees. “So, we have a few reasons to see Tony. But he won’t be happy we’re showing up unannounced. At least, he won’t be happy to see me.”

 

“I know,” she says mournfully. “We should rip this bandage off fast. Or turn around and take you home and I'll head over there by myself.”

 

“No,” Steve says stubbornly. Even though he’d never turn down a chance to be alone with Zaara, this is one journey he has to make _with_ her. And as badly as it might hurt, he has to face Tony.

 

“Okay,” she sighs. “I’m sorry to put you in this position.”

 

He shakes it off. “I really ought to see Rhodie, see how he’s doing. I owe him that.” They drive on in silence for a while. Suddenly, a different worry gnaws at his gut. “What about the X-men? And the children? Are you going to tell him everything?”

 

“I’ll have to wait and see,” she shrugs. “I took a peek into his mind last night.”

 

“You what?” Steve asks, incredulous.

 

“Just a peek,” Zaara protests. “To prepare.”

 

“Next time,” Steve says wearily. “Will you tell me these things?”

 

“Next time,” she agrees. “If you quit trying to make me _kiss_ you.”

 

 _She’s got me there_. “I’m sorry about that.”

 

“I know,” she says airily. “So, back to Stark’s mind. I couldn’t tell how he’d react to the idea of mutants. You understand why I can’t trust him, at least not right away. But at least he passed the child soldier test.”

 

“The child soldier test?” Steve repeats, dumbfounded.

 

“It’s what I always check first,” she informs him. “When I’m deciding whether to trust someone with our secrets. Stark’s against child soldiers. However, his recent involvement with that very young Spiderman does concern me. Plus, of course, mutants would never tolerate a registration act and everything they’re doing to the inhumans with the Sokovia Accords. So, in a way, you were standing up for us, too. Tony’s relaxed his stance on that, but I’m going to wait until I see him with my own eyes, see how he reacts to another so-called powered person in his midst. It should tell me what I need to know. Storm trusts me to make the right decision.”

 

“Alright,” Steve agrees. “So, we focus on Rhodie. Then we’ll see what else we can tell Stark.”

 

“I do plan to mention that I’m helping Bucky,” she notes. “His reaction to that will say a lot.”

 

“It sure as hell will,” he nods, wincing from the memory of their last encounter. When they finally reach the city, he notices how Zaara subtly maneuvers things to help them avoid the snags and snares of downtown traffic. She even gets the car valet-parked in the VIP section of Stark Tower, no questions asked.

 

“Well,” she says as he opens her door and helps her out of the vehicle. “This sure beats the main entrance with all those cameras.” They breeze through security in a way that reminds Steve of their brief foray to that fancy hotel in Wakanda on the day they met. They even take the private elevator up to the secured levels of the tower, the one that opens right to the reception area where, not so long ago, Tony Stark hosted the party that got crashed by Ultron. When the doors slide open, the first thing he sees is a tall, slender blonde staring out the window.

 

_Sharon._

 

Zaara sees her, too. A wrenching feeling strikes her gut. Biting her lip, she steels herself. _This is my chance. I have to take it._

 

Steve notices the sudden grip of tension on her body, but has no chance to wonder at it for he is suddenly rushed by the woman who used to be his neighbour. “Steve!” Sharon cries, embracing him. “Where the hell did you come from?”

 

“Sharon,” Steve blushes as she wraps her arms around him. He cannot help but embrace her in return, for he owes her so much. _Thank God she’s not in jail. She could be right now, with everything she did for me. Did Stark bail her out?_

 

Zaara reads it. Tony Stark did indeed strike a deal with Everett Ross to avoid Sharon’s arrest with the intention of taking her on at Stark Industries as he did with Maria Hill. But instead, the new Shield enlisted her as a high-level liaison with the Avengers. Working for Stark Industries is only a cover.

 

“Steve,” Sharon repeats his name, the memory of his lips meeting hers all too fresh despite the months that have passed. “How have you been? What’s happened? What’s going on? Who’s this?” Her eyes meet Zaara’s and they are full of curiosity. And longing. Despite being a superb intelligence agent and an expert in covert ops, her feelings betray her.

 

 _Boy, she's got it bad for Steve,_ Zaara notes. Quickly, she recalls seeing Sharon in Steve’s mind from when they lived as neighbors in Washington, D.C. _He had one hell of a crush on her--until she lost his trust._ _And he had it bad for her in Leipzig, too. She really saved his ass._

Steve looks over at Zaara now and Sharon’s piercing gaze misses nothing. Zaara can’t quite put his expression into words. _Delight? Embarrassment? Panic?_ But it doesn’t matter. She sees an opportunity and she won’t let it pass her by.

 

“We’re here to see Tony,” Steve asserts and releases Sharon reluctantly, as if he is afraid of hurting her feelings.

 

Staring hard at him, Sharon struggles to get a hold of herself. _What’s wrong with me? All goo goo over a guy? Get it together, Sharon._ “He’s here, Steve. But where have you been? You stopped returning my calls when you got to Wakanda. How did you make it back to the States? What’s happened to Bucky Barnes?”

 

“I, I can’t tell you everything, Sharon,” Steve sounds apologetic. “I know I owe you a lot.”

 

“At least a cup of coffee,” Sharon smirks, a bit more brazenly than she means to. She wonders at herself. _What the hell did I just say?_

 

“I think you do, Steve,” Zaara adds, raising her eyebrows. “You’d better get her number.”

 

Steve’s face immediately reddens and he fumbles. “I uh, don’t think I have a phone I can use . . .”

 

“Don’t worry,” Zaara smiles gently, though something is beginning to fall apart inside of her. “Mr. Stark will see to it that you get her number.”

 

And indeed, as if on cue, Tony Stark whirls into the room. “Who’s this?”

 

“Tony.” Steve stands there awkwardly and extends his hand. Nervous, he waits to see what Tony will do.

 

“Cap.” Tony frowns, and the horrors of their last battle wash over him again. He’s relived that traumatic moment too many times. For the life of him, he couldn’t tell whether Steve would actually kill him or not and it haunts him terribly. _I thought he’d do it. I really did._

 

“He wouldn’t have,” Zaara says quietly. “He never would.”

 

“What, what’s that?” Tony asks, stumbling over himself.

 

“He never would have killed you, Mr. Stark,” Zaara clarifies with compassion.

 

“Are you . . . are you one of those mind readers?” Tony blurts out, trying to lighten things up. “Because I’ve never had good experiences with any of you.”

 

“Maybe,” she smiles and glances directly at Sharon. “But we need privacy to continue this conversation. I’m sorry, Agent Carter. It’s been a pleasure to meet you. I’ll make sure Steve gives you that call.”

 

Sharon nods politely and backs away, uncertain. _A mind reader. Does that explain what the hell I said to him?_ “Mr. Stark. You know where to find me.”

 

“I do,” Tony nods. “Thanks, Agent.”

 

She purses her lips and nods at him, sparing one last glance for Steve.

 

“I’ll talk to you soon, Sharon,” he finally murmurs, a mixture of guilt and regret. _Peggy’s niece. And one hell of an agent. I’d have never been able to save Bucky without her. Where do we go from here?_

 

As Sharon leaves the room, Tony’s bravado deflates.

 

“Full privacy protocols, please,” Zaara says succinctly.

 

“Hey,” Tony protests. “I thought this was _my_ tower.”

 

“Mr. Stark,” Zaara begins gently. “I’m not here to manipulate you or to mess with your mind.”

 

“Oh yeah,” Tony rubs his brow, still uncertain. “Then why the hell _are_ you here?”

 

“I’m sorry, Tony—“ Steve begins.

 

“Not now, Steve,” Zaara warns. “Mr. Stark I came to help Colonel Rhodes.”

 

“ _Help_ him?” Tony asks, incredulous. “How?”

 

“I can heal people,” Zaara says slowly. “A little.”

 

“Heal? Heal what??” Tony’s heart spikes in his chest, as if the sight of Steve’s face hasn’t already caused him a tremor or two. 

 

“Yes,” she nods, confirming his suspicions. “My name is Zaara Xaviar and I’m one of those powered people. I can heal—to an extent. Depending on the nature of his injury, I might be able to do something to help him. And that’s our peace offering. For what happened in Siberia.”

 

“I don’t know if there’s any peace offering big enough to heal what went down in Siberia—or Leipzig,” Rhodie says smoothly as he enters the room with his high-tech crutches.

 

“Maybe not,” Zaara agrees, her arm stopping Steve from moving or speaking. _Not yet, Steve. Wait._ “But I can try. If I could get you to wiggle even a single toe, it would be worth it. The world needs the Avengers. Thor’s on the move. You know it. Something big is coming and we need to work together.”

 

“She’s right,” Steve adds carefully as Zaara finally lets him speak. “Zemo tore us apart. I don’t know if I can ever put us back together again. But Zaara has a gift. And she’s willing to share it with you.”

 

“Please,” she begs them. “Let me try. I can help you.”

 

“Then explain.” Rhodie casts his skepticism aside. If he didn’t have to hold onto his crutches, he would cross his arms over his chest.

 

But Tony is still fearful. “What makes you think I’d let you anywhere near him?” he demands and Zaara knows he has a finger fixed on his bracelet, ready to summon his Iron Man suit at a moment’s notice.

 

"Tony,” Steve intervenes. “You can trust her. She’ll do the right thing.”

 

But Tony looks past him, eyes widening in a way that reminds him of the terror they held just before the man who was once Captain America shattered the arc reactor on his chest with his shield. “What is this?” Tony’s voice quivers and he cannot keep from shaking.

 

Steve turns his head and catches sight of a blonde woman far across the room. She stares at them, eyes locked on Tony, while her body shimmers with tiny sparkles. “You know who she is, Mr. Stark,” Zaara says meaningfully.

 

“Oh yeah?” Tony mutters, trying desperately to mask his fear. “So now I’m hallucinating. Someone slipped something into my coffee. It’s not really her, is it? Or you hosting a séance?”

 

“It’s just your memory of her,” Zaara says softly just before another woman appears at her side, a woman whom Steve recognizes all too well. _Mrs. Barnes._ Another moment passes before the two figures are joined by a dark-skinned woman whom he guesses must be Rhodie’s mother. Finally, an image of his own Ma appears. Four mothers, all glittering and gazing at their sons. The men stare back at them, overcome by emotion. Steve forces himself to breathe for this is the first time Zaara has ever conjured up an image of Sarah Rogers. _She must have seen her when she read my mind in Wakanda. Ma, the way she looked when she came home from work on a school night. Tired out, but always glad to see me. It’s been so long. What would she think of me now?_

 

“Mr. Stark, Colonel Rhodes, I think you recognize your own mothers. But allow me to introduce Mrs. Winifred Barnes. I thought it was important for you to meet her,” Zaara says softly. “The lady on the right is Sarah Rogers, of course. You might notice the resemblance.”

 

The image of Mrs. Barnes with her pale skin and unmistakable dark hair smiles at them. Steve’s mother, kind-faced and slender with her fair hair, also gazes in her direction. Zaara knows they were friends, once.

 

Tony grunts defensively.

 

“The last time Mrs. Barnes ever saw her son,” Zaara continues, undaunted. “Was in 1942. Just before he left for the war.”

 

The men are silent.

 

“Now I don’t wish to presume, but as the only mother in this room,” she sighs, “I feel obligated to speak on their behalf. I’m sure none of them would want this for their sons. All this fighting, you trying to kill each other. Blaming each other for what Hydra did. No mother would ever want that. But Tony . . .”

 

The fellow also known as Iron Man crosses his arms over his chest, eyes gaping.

 

“Tony, she had a heart big enough to love your father, warts and all. So something tells me she would have had compassion for Mrs. Barnes and the way she lost her son. She would never have hated her—or Bucky. She would have understood, even if she never wanted that fate. Can’t you see it?” Zaara asks softly. Tears well up in his eyes, so she compels the apparitions to gradually fade away so as to give the men time to absorb what they have seen, to ponder their lives from the perspective of their mothers.

 

 _Just remember,_ _Tony,_ she adds silently as the last of the sparkles fall to the floor. _It was all Hydra. You have to accept that sooner or later. Hydra took her son from her and Hydra took your mother from you._

 

Tony clenches his fists, but says nothing.

 

“So, we don’t need to discuss this any further,” Zaara says, business-like again. “Just give me a chance. Let me try to heal Colonel Rhodes. I can’t do him any harm—“

 

“Can’t or _won’t_?” Tony quips, still recovering from the apparitions.

 

“I don’t hurt people,” Zaara explains. “But you wouldn’t know that, would you? You’ve never met a true telepath before, Mr. Stark. And with all due respect, neither have you, Colonel Rhodes. All we see is people’s pain. None of us have any desire to add to it. So, will you let me try to heal yours now?”

 

“A telepath _and_ a healer, then?” Tony pipes up, sounding skeptical but Steve knows it is all a ruse. Those tears haven’t quite left his eyes. Not yet.

 

“Well, it’s not as if I can just waltz through a cancer ward and heal everybody,” she says ruefully. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

 

“It takes a lot of her energy,” Steve explains. “Even to heal something small. That’s why I came.”

 

Tony snorts.

 

“So please, go on into your treatment room and lie down, Colonel Rhodes,” Zaara politely instructs him. “Take off your clothes and put on a towel because I don’t plan on sticking my hand down your pants today.” Steve blushes though the quip sets the men at ease, all except Tony whose suspicions she cannot quell. Indeed, he has yet to make his peace with Steve. Zaara knows now it’s going take a long time, and that puts the entire world at a disadvantage even if Steve already sent him a letter of apology, promising to be there whenever Tony needs him.

 

Rhodie begins his awkward walk to the treatment room. He moves slowly and with great effort. Zaara senses that his back aches from the new gait he has been forced to adopt as a result of his injury, but of course the injury itself is of far more consequence. When he finally leaves the room, she instinctively positions herself between Steve and Tony. “Tony,” Steve finally says, taking a chance. “You know I’m so, so sorry.”

 

“I know,” Tony replies, a hint of forgiveness finally breaking through his expression. “Zemo got the better of us all, didn’t he?”

 

“I plan to pay him a visit, by the way,” Zaara pipes up. Both men regard her quizzically. She nods, confirming their suspicions. “In Berlin. If they allow me to meet with him, I’d like to give him an . . . experience to change his mind about things.”

 

“Change his mind about what?” Steve asks, a dreadful feeling hitting him. _What the hell is she talking about?_

 

“He thinks he won,” Tony points out. “I saw the tapes.”

 

“Not after I get to him,” Zaara asserts grimly. “He’ll reconsider that perspective.”

 

“Why? What would you do to him?” Steve asks, foreboding in his voice. He’s not seen this light in her eyes before—it reminds him of her anger over Blink’s stallion, but it seems much colder.

 

“Thought you just said you don’t hurt people,” Tony grunts, his fear rising though he is loathe to show it and even more loathe to think she sees it in him.

 

“I don’t,” Zaara sings, sounding innocent enough. “I was only planning on _sharing_ an experience with him. Expanding his horizons, so to speak.”

 

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, even more disturbed.

 

She smiles wryly at the expression on his face. “Oh, don’t be so upset, gentlemen. I just think that Helmut Zemo deserves to share in the wonderful womanly experience of childbirth.”

 

Both Tony and Steve flinch visibly.

 

Zaara scratches her chin. “Hmmm . . . Maybe my son’s birth. Yes, that would do. Thirty-two hours of labour. No painkillers.”

 

The men gasp.

 

“Yes,” she continues, coolly disregarding them. “I think that would be appropriate. Someone who’s ended so many lives deserves to _fully know_ what it takes to bring one into the world. It would certainly enlighten him; make him think twice about running a death squad or setting off anymore bombs."

 

Suddenly, Vision drifts through the walls. “Ms. Xaviar.”

 

“Why, hello there,” she greets him calmly, for she had sensed his consciousness lurking just outside the room. Still, her eyes dart up to the power gem Vision carries on his forehead. It gives her the creeps. _He’d better keep that thing far away from me._

 

“I am Vision,” he announces perfunctorily. “And it is an honor to meet you, Ms. Xaviar. Captain Rogers,” he acknowledges Steve. “I apologize for our misunderstanding in Leipzig and am most keen to see what Ms. Xaviar can do to help Colonel Rhodes.”

 

“I am . . . touched by the depth of your compassion, Vision,” Zaara admits solemnly.

 

“You can read me then?” he asks politely.

 

“Yes,” she marvels. “And, you want—“

 

“I, too, wish to share your experience of childbirth. For I have also caused others pain,” Vision begins.

 

“Oh, no no no . . .” Tony grabs his head in his hands and rolls his eyes. “This is so, so wrong.”

 

“Sir,” Vision protests.

 

“It’s alright, Tony,” she smiles, unable to hide her surprise. “You are a most impressive man, Vision.”

 

Steve feels a sharp pang of jealousy.

 

“You see me as a man?” Vision asks in surprise.

 

“You have more humanity in you than most,” Zaara smiles with genuine sincerity. “No doubt, part of that is due to your programming.” She glances at Tony, who is unused to receiving such compliments. “Mr. Stark, can you spare Vision for about eleven hours?”

 

“Eleven? I thought it took thirty-two,” Tony snorts.

 

“My daughter’s birth only took eleven hours,” she explains patiently. “But no painkillers, either. It was a good, progressive labour.”

 

“Does the lady have a fondness for pain?” Tony muses. “I’m not sure I should be letting you anywhere near Rhodie.”

 

“Let’s not start any debates about natural childbirth,” Zaara admonishes. “It was my choice. But I don’t think you deserve the 32-hour odyssey, Vision. The eleven-hour version should suit you just fine, with Tony’s blessing.” She is careful not to ask his permission. She knows Tony still feels like he owns Vision, though the cyborg is definitely his own person.

 

Vision quickly voices his concerns. “This won’t in any way inhibit your ability to heal Colonel Rhodes, will it Ms. Xaviar?”

 

“Not at all,” she shakes her head.

 

“The energy is different,” Steve explains, smug to be in the know. “Telepathy is not as tiring for her—for the most part.”

 

Zaara nods, pleased to have him speak for her. The morning has been long and they are still nowhere near lunchtime. “I should do it now, though. Just in case I knock myself out with Colonel Rhodes.”

 

“You mean the good Captain might have to carry you home?” Tony smirks.

 

“’Fraid so,” she admits, and Steve feels a secret sense of satisfaction. He always loves to have her in his arms, his recent encounter with Sharon all but forgotten.

 

“Well, then,” Zaara glances at the door. “I think it’s time. But only if you’re certain, Vision.”

 

“I am,” the cyborg replies and glides closer to her. She gingerly reaches up to place her hands upon his temples, taking extra care to avoid any contact with the power gem. After a moment, she releases him. “There. I’d tell you to enjoy it, but you won’t.”

 

Vision abruptly clenches his fists into his gut and gives a groan.

 

“The first contraction,” Zaara confirms solemnly.

 

“Oh,” Vision swallows, surprised. “That . . . that wasn’t so terrible.”

 

“Of course not,” Zaara smiles. “You’ve got eleven hours to go.”

 

“May I . . .” Vision clears his throat, relaxing after the pain quickly passes. “May I meet your daughter someday, Ms. Xaviar? Since I am to experience her birth.”

 

“Of course, Vision,” Zaara smiles. “It would only make sense. She’d love to know you. And we hope all of the Avengers will meet us. Eventually.”

 

“Us? Who’s us?” Tony is aghast.

 

“Ready!” Rhodie’s voice can be heard as if from far away, and the three of them head into the treatment room, Steve hot on Zaara’s heels.

 

Rhodie lays upon his stomach, naked but for a white towel wrapped around his waist and it makes Steve think he is about to receive a massage. Indeed, when Zaara approaches the table, she stands by his side and gently rolls her knuckles against his lower back in a most soothing manner. “Lowest vertebra,” she murmurs. “L-5. You’re very lucky, Colonel Rhodes.”

 

“Lucky?” he asks, raising his head.

 

“It’s the best spot on the spinal column. If you had to choose where to get hurt, it’s there. Highest chance of recovery, easiest to heal. You have the most control over things—breathing centers not effected, you can use your arms, maintain your posture, your bladder control. Believe me, I know a thing or two about spinal cord injuries,” she intones. “I worked on one for many years. One far worse than yours. I never could cure it, but I did make some progress. We’ll see what I can do for you today. If I make good progress, you can always have me back for more. We have lots of reasons to be optimistic.”

 

Rhodie glances at Tony and shrugs. “What’ve I gotta lose, Tony?”

 

“Only your crutches,” Tony quips.

 

Zaara rolls her eyes and meets Steve’s steady gaze. He is watching intently, pride and worry on his face. When her fingers dig into the skin just above Rhodie’s buttocks, he holds his breath. “This is it. Right here,” she whispers and closes her eyes, concentrating. “They need to be fused together. Surgery is dangerous and difficult.”

 

“What . . . shall you do then, Ms. Xaviar?” Vision asks, breathless. He has experienced a second contraction, but refuses to draw attention to it.

 

“I’m going to suppress the negative growth signals in your central nervous system,” she says slowly, her mind elsewhere. “It’ll allow your nerves to reach out and re-connect. That’s how healing begins, at least in the spinal column. It’s always easier with a supersoldier.”

 

“Oh,” Tony groans. “ _Everything’s_ easier with a supersoldier. My dad coulda told you that.”

 

Zaara sighs.

 

“Let’s be quiet,” Steve says softly. “Let her do her job.”

 

Time passes. Vision brings her a stool so she can sit down and, after about forty minutes, Zaara yawns and stretches. “Okay. Good for now.” She removes her hands and gives another yawn.

 

“You alright?” Steve asks tentatively, more concerned for her in that moment than for Rhodie.

 

“Yes,” she nods, though she appears sleepy.

 

“ _Tony,”_ Rhodie says abruptly. “I can feel them.”

 

“Feel them? Feel _what_?” Tony asks.

 

“My . . . my toes,” Rhodie sounds as if he is suppressing a sob. _“I can feel my damn toes.”_

 

“It worked,” Steve breathes in disbelief. Even Vision appears to be in awe and for once, Tony has no words. Zaara smiles and meets Steve’s eyes. She looks so happy that tears threaten to fall. She tries to stand up but practically falls asleep at the same moment. Luckily, Steve is close by and catches her. Vision is just as quick and holds up the other side of her body, but another contraction hits him and he releases her.

 

“Sorry,” he apologizes to Steve and clutches at his abdomen. “Takes me by surprise. There’s only an approximate mathematical regularity . . .”

 

“No, there ain’t,” Tony laughs, his arm around Rhodie who is wiggling his toes with glee. “Does this mean . . .”

 

“I dunno, my friend,” Rhodie muses. “But she made a difference. It’s _better._ We’ll see what the doc says.”

 

“She can come again,” Steve assures him, holding her with relish. “In time. She needs to recover.” As if in agreement, Zaara gives a slight snore and snuggles her face into his muscular shoulder.

 

“Well,” Tony observes with his usual wit. “This leaves us with some wiggly toes and a cyborg with ten hours to go before giving birth.”

 

Rhodie laughs. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

 

“Tell us again,” Tony urges him.

 

“It means I could get a full recovery. A _full recovery,_ Tony,” he gasps.

 

Steve smiles. “I hope so, Rhodie. I really do.”

 

Rhodie meets his eyes, forgiveness in them. “I’m sorry about the way things went down, Cap.”

 

“Me too,” he agrees and glances down at Zaara. “She says we need to stick together. Something’s coming. Thor’s been popping up all over the place.”

 

“Thor?” Tony is aghast. “Is there anything else you’d like to tell us? Point Break’s flitting in and out of our lives like some blonde, hammer-wielding tooth fairy? What’s next? An army taking the Yellow Brick Road out of Munchkin Land?”

 

Steve raises his eyebrows at him. “I get it, Tony. We’ve been trying, but she can’t make sense of it. Zaara’s not some cosmic power or space alien.” After a short discussion, the men agree that the mystery of Thor’s activities will have to be addressed at another time. They take their leave of each other, Steve wishing Vision all the best in his birthing experience.

 

“Captain,” the cyborg gasps after yet another contraction. “Please. Give my regards to Wanda. And, tell her—I miss her.”

 

“I’ll be sure to let her know what you’ve been up to,” Steve nods, biting his smile.

 

“Oh,” Vision sighs, sensing another contraction will soon be on its way. “And Captain, your attorneys have arrived.”

 

“Nelson and Murdock?” Steve asks. “Don’t worry, they’ll bring you up to speed. I gotta get her home now.” And without any further ado, he makes a swift exit, glad to avoid seeing the man who once kissed Zaara.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Bucky wanders across the grounds of the X-mansion like a newborn deer staggering about in the woods. The former Winter Soldier is not exactly ungraceful, but Rogue can tell he is unused to being out in the open country, under the rays of the full sun. Indeed, the vastness of the grounds leaves him feeling quite uneasy. _Zaara’s garden suits him better,_ she notes ruefully. _It has shade, lots of place to hide._

 

Indeed, Bucky seems at a bit of a loss in Zaara’s absence. His discomfort is so disarmingly apparent, Rogue finds herself taking his prosthetic hand and stroking it. “Just relax, Bucky. No one can harm you here. It’s safe. And besides,” she adds with an afterthought, “the Professor used to say he felt very, very sorry for anyone who attacked our school.”

 

Thinking of the woman with streaks of lightening in her hair, not to mention the big metal man Zaara calls Pete, Bucky has to agree. Nevertheless, Rogue leads them back towards the mansion. “A little indoor time won’t do you any harm. I can tell you feel more at home in Zaara’s suite. At least for now,” she says kindly. They walk back towards the school and find themselves nearing the Professor's memorial.

 

“Is that him?” Bucky asks, nodding his head towards a frieze set upon a simple ebony obelisk. It depicts the profile of a rather distinguished looking gentleman.

 

“Yeah,” Rogue whispers. “That’s him. We all loved him. He was the best.”

 

In a flash, Bucky senses her feelings for him, all the grief and gratitude and wonder she has for this man who took her into his home when she was but a teenager on the run. “Sure seems like it,” Bucky agrees and finds himself putting an arm around her shoulders. And Rogue cannot help but give a quiet sob. It has been a long time since she last let herself weep for Charles Xaviar. The young woman receives Bucky's embrace knowing he feels surprised at himself and this strange urge to comfort someone else. It is a strange position to be in since his ordeal as the Winter Soldier. No one but little Ellie brings out those feelings in him.

 

_He has a real soft spot for that girl._

_I sure do,_ Bucky agrees, and both of them laugh at the strangeness of sharing such an intimate connection. _The tether._ Zaara had been much better at keeping things private than Rogue, who is not a telepath and possesses no such skill. But their thoughts continually spill back and forth into each other’s heads and they cannot help but feel some shyness and embarrassment for it. Nevertheless, Rogue is always there to reassure him, to tell him he’s safe and that she was once tethered to Zaara, too.

 

_It brings you closer, Bucky. This way, you’ll always know who your friends are. And you learn to forgive—a lot. We’re all human, even with our mutations and enhancements. If we can’t have compassion for ourselves, how will the rest of world ever manage it?_

 

“I know, doll,” he agrees, humbled. “I’m glad you don’t mind staying with me.”

 

“Not at all,” she giggles. “You’re not hard on the eyes, you know.” Indeed, she and Zaara discussed it earlier. Bucky’s a very handsome man, after all, and there is a distinct shortage of men in the mansion at the moment. After swearing off Bobby for good, the pickings have been terribly slim. Pete has formed a close attachment to Kitty, but Remy left two years ago. Any other males in the mansion are under the age of sixteen but for Forge who is a sworn loner, even if he carries a secret torch for Storm. Zaara knows Rogue’s vulnerability all too well, her relentless longing to be loved. She experiences it herself time and again. Romantic love is a rare commodity these days and, no matter how much love the children give them, it’s just not the same. Though Bucky is technically available, Zaara urged Rogue to proceed with caution. The former Winter Soldier has many issues, after all, and healing has to be his top priority. Besides, even though Rogue is her best friend, the class five mutant does feel quite protective of him.

 

Bucky gives her a naughty grin. “Quit buttering me up, cupcake. You know what I am.”

 

“You’re a good man,” she answers him.

 

“Stop with that already,” he murmurs. “You and Zaara both.” He turns from her and his eyes wander to rest upon two headstones situated next to the obelisk. “Who are they?”

 

“Oh,” Rogue sounds dismayed and he immediately feels her grief. “They were teachers at our school. Very loved, too. Scott Summers and Jean Grey.”

 

“What?” Bucky zeroes in on the feelings. There’s something there she wants to hide. “What happened to them?” he asks her directly, sensing it’s important.

 

Rogue looks at the ground. “It’s a real tragedy for us, Bucky. It’s hard to talk about it.”

 

“Then don’t talk,” he says simply, taking her by the shoulders and turning her to face him. Her skin is well-covered, but she trembles anyways. _Just tell me, doll. Please. I want to know. I, I think I need to know somehow._

Rogue swallows the lump in her throat. _Wow. It’s hard being here right now, Bucky. I haven’t come by to see the memorial in a few months. It still feels so fresh to me. But I’ll tell you anyways._

 

_I know, doll. I’m glad you’re gonna try. You’re being really brave._

_Bucky Barnes. Now you’re buttering me up. You’ve been reading my mind all day long so you must know by now that I’m really just a chicken. But here goes nothing. Jean Grey was a class five, like Zaara. And Scott was her husband. He was Alex’s brother, too._

_That guy Havok?_

_Yeah, that’s him. Jean and Scott had a good marriage. They really loved each other. And then, the Phoenix came._

_The Phoenix?_

_It was some sort of cosmic entity. It took Jean away from us. Changed her, turned her into some kind of monster. Used her powers to kill lots of people. And everyone loved her, too, so it was a terrible loss. Jean was a wonderful person—she'd never hurt a kitten. But when the Phoenix came, she killed a lot of people in cold blood. Including her own husband. And the Professor._

_What about Zaara?_

Rogue sighs.

 

_It’s okay, doll. I know it’s hard. Take your time._

 

“Zaara tried to stop her,” Rogue’s voice sounds hoarse with tears. “She tried to fight her, made some headway, but she got so afraid Jean would come for the children. So she left it up to Logan. He’s another friend of ours and he had to kill Jean. And that just about killed him, too. He left us, you know. That’s why the X-men are mostly women now. It’s just a whole circle of sorrow, Bucky. I don’t think I can talk about it much longer.”

 

Grief colours her eyes, but Bucky can’t stop. Not now. Not yet. “Doll, please. I know there’s more. Just tell me what it did to Zaara. She’s lookin’ after me, so I need to know. Steve needs to know, too.”

 

Rogue nods in acknowledgment, unable to speak. She finally opens her mouth, but her first words are about Steve since she’s sensing some things from Bucky, too. “The Captain has the hots for her, doesn’t he?”

 

Bucky nods ruefully. “He sure does, Marie. He sure does.”

 

“That’s bad for him,” she shakes her head.

 

_Doll, tell me. You’ve got to._

_I, I can’t. I made a promise._

_Then that’s a bad promise,_ he retorts. _I can tell.  Makes you grim, kills your heart. My heart’s already dead, but you’re young. You’re free. You shouldn’t be carryin’ a burden like that. She should never have asked you to make that kind of promise._ And his mind delves into hers, probing into regions she’s not ready for, and he knows beyond doubt that Zaara did this. Zaara pinned Rogue down into some kind of promise. A terrible promise.

 

“Bucky,” Rogue is trembling now, tears in her eyes. “You gotta understand.”

 

“I do, doll,” he whispers, giving her a penetrating stare. “I will. Just tell me.”

 

_She was so afraid. She made me promise never to tell. Anyone._

_I’ll talk with her about it,_ he tries to reassure her. _She’ll read me anyways. But, please. Tell me yourself._

_She was so scared, felt so awful after what Logan did for her ‘cause she couldn’t do it herself. She couldn’t kill Jean._

_Yes?_

_What Jean did to Scott . . . Bucky, he was the love of her life. She married him, you know. And she killed him. Zaara’s terrified of that. She’s terrified of becoming like Jean._

 

“Okay,” he says out loud, abruptly severing their telepathic conversation. “I get it. You’re a good girl, Marie. The best. She’s lucky to have you.”

 

“Please,” she begs, staring at him hard. And him being so terribly handsome, blue eyes so open and earnest, doesn’t help. “Be gentle with her. None of this is her fault. You’ve got to understand.”

 

“I do, doll,” he nods vehemently. “Sometimes, we end up doing terrible things through no fault of our own.”

 

“Even if we _feel_ like it’s our fault,” she adds bitterly.

 

“Yeah,” he agrees, knowing that the sort of innocence she’s talking about applies exclusively to her and definitely not to him.

 

“Bucky,” Rogue whispers. “It _does_ apply to you. You _are_ like me. It was _not_ your fault.”

 

“Marie.” Suddenly, he feels brazen. Clutching her shoulders firmly in both hands, flesh and metal, he leans closer and, to her shock, gives her a soft kiss. His faces whitens when his lips touch hers, but nothing more.

 

“Thank you.”

 

She gasps in horror. “Bucky. _What did you just do?_ ”

 

“Uh, I think I just kissed you,” he smirks, rather stunned and rubbbing his head vigorously. It feels sore and his skin tingles with sharp jolts of pain. She notices he’s gone white as a sheet but, to his credit, he is strong and stays standing, his iron will every bit as powerful as his supersoldier body.

 

“You idiot,” she laughs, grief and terror mixing with a huge sense of relief. “You sure know how to turn my world upside down.”

 

“Sorry, doll,” he apologizes with a rakish grin. “You’re one hell of a girl and don’t you forget it. Any man would be lucky to have you _._ ”

 

“Oh, just shut up,” she sighs and turns away from him, but he follows her back inside. She spares him a glance and rolls her eyes. “Yankee fool.”

 

Later, when Steve arrives with a sleeping Zaara in his arms, Bucky can barely contain himself. But he has to wait. Several hours pass while she sleeps. Rogue remains with them in the suite all the while. When it is time to pick Henry up from school, Rogue must do it since Steve is not on the authorization list. Of course she has to take Bucky with her. Steve looks after them longingly, but feels strongly about staying with Zaara. He watches her sleep, his mind drifting until he feels a buzz on his phone.

 

It’s Sharon. “Steve?”

 

“Sharon. It, it was good to see you today.”

 

“Yeah. I know. Listen, there’s an art exhibit in Brooklyn. The opening is tomorrow. Works by Brooklyn artists from 1935 to 1945. You interested?”

 

“Uh,” he pauses, and stares at Zaara’s sleeping face. “Sure. Sure, Sharon. Sounds great.”

 

“Look,” Sharon’s voice takes on a more somber tone. “I don’t want to interfere with you and your new friends. I realize there’s a lot I don’t know.”

 

“And I’m sorry about that,” he apologizes. “But I at least owe you dinner. I can be there tomorrow. What time?”

 

“How about eight?” she sounds upbeat. “The reception goes ‘til ten. We can catch a late dinner afterwards.”

 

“Sure thing,” he nods, a bit stunned. _A date with Sharon._ “Where is it?”

 

“The Faith Gallery. Just off Jay St and the Boulevard. Do you know it?”

 

“Not really,” he confesses. “But I’ll find it. I’ll see you there, Sharon. And, uh, thanks again.”       

 

“Sure thing,” she replies, sounding unconvinced.

 

He hangs up. He has a date with Sharon. And he’s staring at Zaara’s sleeping face, wondering what it would be like to taste her lips again. He sighs. _Sharon’s no fool. She knows something’s up. But I gotta see her. I owe her. Hope it’ll be alright with Zaara. It won’t change the way I feel about her._

 

When she wakes, Zaara stares at him hard, but Henry bursts into the room and throws himself into her arms. She covers him with kisses, calls him the best boy in the world, and Steve can hardly wait to receive a powerful hug of his own. Indeed, Henry has become remarkably strong and he feels badly about the way the boy tends to throw himself at Zaara. His affection often leaves her covered in bruises.

 

Bucky and Rogue come in after Henry and they are delighted to see Zaara awake. “Hey, darlin’!” Rogue calls. “Good to see you up. How you feelin’?”

 

“Mmm . . .” Zaara yawns and it makes Steve want to curl right up in bed beside her. “Tired.”

 

“She worked hard today,” Steve smiles, brushing her hair from her face. Both Bucky and Rogue notice it, the way he touches her, as if he is caring for something precious. But he must lift Henry away from her, shield her from his kicking legs and overly enthusiastic fists. “Rhodie said he could feel his toes again.”

 

“That’s GREAT!” Rogue cheers wholeheartedly. “She’s the only one of us who’s ever been able to do anything like that, you know.”

 

Steve and Bucky stare at one another while Zaara blushes. “It’s the least I could do for Colonel Rhodes,” she says quietly. “The world needs the Avengers. Hopefully, this will start to heal the rift between them.”

 

“Speaking of rifts, doll,” Bucky purrs. “I hope I haven’t put your girl off too much. She might need a break from me.”

 

“Oh, he’s a handful alright,” Rogue smirks. “But I’ve managed.”

 

“Thanks, Rogue,” Zaara says simply, though she doesn’t move to leave the bed. She’s still too tired. “I’ll look after him.” And, with a small nod, she severs their connection.

 

Bucky gives Rogue a startled look as soon as he realizes he’s been cut off from her consciousness. Their link had been special to him. He now knows her as one of the kindest, sweetest people he has ever met. Back in the day, he would have dated her in a heartbeat. But he is all too ready to come home to Zaara and smoothly leans himself close to her on the bed so she can place her fingers over his temples.

 

“There,” she says softly while Steve looks on, jealous as usual.

 

“Lemme walk you out, doll,” Bucky murmurs, not looking away from Zaara as he rises from the bed. Taking Rogue by the hand, he leads her to the door. Giving a huge sigh of contentment, he feels like he has come home.

 

Steve remains in the room, unsure. “Zaara? Are you feeling alright?”

 

“Mmmm,” she stretches, and gives another yawn. “Still tired. But I’d better not fall sleep again, at least, not until bedtime. I ought to spend some time with the children. I haven’t even seen Ellie yet.”

 

“She’s with Pete and Bobby,” he murmurs absently. _How am I gonna tell her about the date? She wanted me to go out with Sharon. But it doesn’t feel right. Feels like I’m betraying her._

 

“Steve. What’s on your mind?” The question is a bit of a joke to her, but she does notice the strained expression on his face.

 

“It was Sharon—she called this afternoon,” he fumbles. “Something didn’t seem right.”

 

Zaara sighs. Sensing something’s up, Bucky returns to the room with them.

 

“I have a date with Sharon. Tomorrow night,” Steve glances at his friend, then stares intensely at Zaara, waiting to see her expression. It occurs to him that his words sound something like a confession. Despite her fatigue, Zaara maintains her pokerface, even if Bucky sees right through it. “The way she asked me out when I saw her this morning—it wasn’t like her,” Steve continues, and the atmosphere in the room becomes distinctly uncomfortable.

 

“She must really like you,” Zaara offers, looking out the window as if she is bored.

 

 _Well played, doll_ , Bucky smirks. _But he ain’t gonna let you get away with that. You know Steve._

 

“Did you . . . encourage her to do it?” Steve asks pointedly. Zaara sighs. She’s never been a very good liar. She blinks her eyes at him and frowns. “You’re pushing me away.” Steve is not asking a question. To his surprise, he doesn’t give a damn that Bucky is witnessing their exchange. A tense silence ensues until Steve braces himself and poses another question. “Why?”

 

“You know why,” she replies defensively. “I told you, back in Wakanda. And last night. I _don’t_ date.”

 

Bucky glances back and forth between the two of them, hesitant. _This feels like a fight. And I don’t know who’s side I’m on._

 

“Look, I care about you. I care about those kids. You don’t need to push me to date Sharon,” Steve’s tone sounds a warning.

 

“She’s a wonderful girl,” Zaara demurs. “And a good match for you. Don’t throw that away.”

 

He grimaces. “Zaara. I can’t have a relationship with her . . . not with the way I feel about you.” He presses his lips together. _The cat’s outta the bag. The cat’s been outta the bag for a while now. Don’t know where this is gonna get me, but I can’t let her run my life. She’s not in charge of my feelings._

 

Bucky marks her words carefully. Zaara is actively veiling her mind from him now despite her state of fatigue. _You’ve gotten awfully good at that since Wakanda, doll._

_I know,_ she looks at him, bemused. But it doesn’t stop the pang in her heart. Even as she pushes Steve away, pushes him towards Sharon, she knows he’ll call her bluff. The man is too damn smart for his own good.

 

“Sharon’s sharp as a whip,” Steve furrows his brow. “She’ll know if this is being coerced.”

 

Zaara has finally had enough. Her words are graceless and blunt. “Then don’t go out with her, Steve. Or, do. I don’t care. It’s not up to me.”

 

Bucky smirks. _The lady doth protest too much._

 

“Just tell me the truth,” Steve insists quietly in his softest voice and it just about kills her. “Help me understand. Then you can push me away all you like—I promise.”

 

She barely muffles a wail. “Bucky, you saw the monuments, didn’t you? In the courtyard? The Professor. Scott Summers . . . Jean Grey.”

 

“Jean Grey,” Steve repeats softly. “The one the kids keep talking about.”

 

“Yeah,” she nods solemnly. _God, they’re still scared of her._ “Jean and I were alike. More than I can say.”

 

“Class fives,” Bucky offers.

 

“Yeah,” Zaara affirms with a slight nod. “So, unless you want to end up looking like a piece of burnt toast or be blasted into oblivion, you don’t want to be with me.”

 

“And you think you know what I want?” Steve asks, incredulous. _She has no idea._

 

“I read your mind,” she snaps back impatiently. “Back in Wakanda. I saw everything—all of it. Your history, your life. _You want to be with Sharon._ ”

 

“That doesn’t mean you know _me_ very well,” Steve uses his the authoritative voice, the one that sounds like Captain America. “You only saw my past. I know how it works. What you saw was true only for that moment in time.”

 

“No. No, I guess I don’t know you very well,” she admits gruffly. “Please excuse me.” She rises out of bed awkwardy given her state of fatigue, and heads for the stairs.

 

Bucky grabs Steve by the arm. “Hold on, pal. I got this.” He follows while she takes refuge in the private garden. It is the place she always goes whenever she needs to be alone. _At least if I make some cosmic blast, only the plants would get nailed._ Even so, she can feel them. They’re alive. Thriving. They love it when she comes to see them and would tell her so if they could.

 

“Sweetheart,” Bucky kneels down and rests his arm upon her thigh and, God help her, it makes her feel good. Too good. So cared for, this casual touch so heavy and masculine. It roots her into place, centers her in herself again as if she has no say in the matter. Bucky shuts his eyes in contentment for he feels it, too. It takes a moment before he speaks again. “I just gotta tell you something.”

 

“Tell away,” she sighs. _I don’t see what difference it makes._

 

 _It makes all the difference in the world_. “Ya see, Steve—Steve is gonna love you. And those kids, too. No matter what you do. You ain’t gonna stop it.”

 

This shocks her. His forwardness, his honesty—even though they share a tether and she can read his mind, Bucky Barnes always manages to surprise her. She wonders if it is the fact that he is the product of a different era. The way these men think about love never fails to astonish her.

 

Bucky goes on, relentless. “He’s gonna love you, doll, even from a distance—if that’s what you want. From the other side of the world or the other side of this house. It don’t matter. You know he won’t change his mind. And if friendship is all you can give him, then he’ll take that, too. He’s not foolin’ around. He lost everything in his life, doll. You know that. And when he gives his heart,” Bucky strengthens his resolve, “he ain’t kiddin’. He’ll do whatever you want, be your friend, or be your everything. But he’s still gonna love _you_ , either way. And those kids, too.”

 

“Bucky." Fresh tears shine in her eyes and she reaches over to embrace him. “Hold me.”

 

And he finds himself comforting a woman for the second time in a day.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Zaara goes to bed early.

 

With the children asleep, Bucky decides to take Steve to see the obelisk. It stands dimly lit by the distant floodlights from across the grounds. “What’s this?” Steve asks, gazing upon the frieze. “Looks like the Professor. Charles Xaviar?”

 

“She’ll tell you all about it, punk. Come on,” Bucky murmurs cryptically before leading him away. They head inside and make their way to Rogue’s room. It is spartan and spotless. Bucky takes in the simplicity of her decor, so unlike the girl he knew from the inside out, and senses this room is really only a placeholder for her.

 

“Bucky, did you miss me that much?” she asks in amusement as she lets them in the door.

 

“’Course I did, doll,” he grins. “But I’ve brought Stevie here. You two need to talk.”

 

“About what?” she asks innocently.

 

“About what you told me this afternoon. About the Professor. And . . . about Jean Grey,” he says softly.

 

Steve perks up.

 

“Tell him, doll. He needs to know,” Bucky says, and Steve winces at his brazenness.

 

“She never told you?” Rogue asks, staring at Steve in dismay. _Oh, this won’t be any fun at all._ “Well, you saw the grave markers. Jean and Scott. They were married, in love and all. But the Phoenix force came. We think it was from outer space. It took over Jean Grey, made her into a . . . a monster. It took her from us. And she was our friend,” she adds with deep regret.

 

“It came from outer space?” Steve offers, cashing in on all the whispers he’d overheard around the school since the day they arrived.

 

“Yeah. At least, we think so,” Rogue admits. “Doesn’t sound too far-fetched anymore, does it? Things comin’ here from outer space. We don’t know for sure, but it was beyond powerful. It took Jean over, made her do horrible things. She nearly destroyed San Francisco all by herself. And she—“ the young woman swallows back her tears.

 

Bucky waits patiently, taking her gloved hand in his and stroking it. Finally, he speaks with the softest voice. “She what?”

 

Rogue clears her throat. “She killed him. Scott—her own husband. The Professor, too. _That’s_ what Zaara’s so afraid of. That’s why she won’t date anybody. She made me . . .”

 

“Made you what?” Steve asks forcefully.

 

Rogue closes her eyes. “She made me promise. Not to tell.”

 

Bucky’s eyes lock on Steve’s. _Now I know what the hell she did._ “Why don’t you tell us, Rogue? You know you can trust us,” Steve says gently.

 

Rogue’s face turns white as a sheet. “I don’t like telling secrets. I made a promise. Zaara wouldn’t want anyone to know. But Storm probably does, anyways.”

 

“What’s she making you do?” Bucky asks sharply. “Somethin’ you don’t _ever_ wanna do?”

 

Rogue squeaks and gives a slight nod. “I ain’t sayin’ anything else.”

 

“Thanks, honey,” Bucky boldly pecks her on the cheek, making her jump. She wipes her hand upon her face and blushes wildly. Bucky, for his part, grins even while his skin turns a frightening shade of white, his life force draining out of him. He is breathing deep, fighting for a quick recovery. “See? You ain’t so bad.”

 

“Bucky,” she wails. “Why’d ya go and do that again? I coulda hurt you so bad.”

 

“ _Again?”_ Steve asks, aghast.

 

“Not even a scratch, doll,” Bucky shakes his head and gives her a wicked grin, the colour gradually returning to his face. “Maybe you ain’t as powerful as you think, huh?”

 

“Or maybe I should only date supersoldiers,” Rogue raises her eyebrows.

 

“Buck,” Steve rolls his eyes, though he is secretly furious. _After all I’ve done to get you back, you go and risk yourself._ But he surrenders. After all, he’s never been able to tell Bucky what to do. “You know how upset she’d be if she hurt you.”

 

“Sorry, doll,” the former Winter Soldier quickly apologizes. “Well,” he thinks the better of it. “No. I’m not sorry—not about _that._ ”

 

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Rogue puts her hands on her hips and shakes her head.

 

Bucky’s wicked grin only grows wider.

 

“I’m leaving you, now,” she announces, reddening even more as she marvels at his ability to withstand skin contact with her. “I’m goin’ for a walk. Alone. Damn Yankees.” She prances away, chewing on her lip and heads for the grounds. A little silence and solitude are in order now. _To think, after all these years, I’m still so afraid of hurtin’ someone. And Bucky seemed fine, just fine. He took it better than Bobby ever did. I don’t know what to think._

 

“Buck,” Steve grabs him by the shoulders so they stand face to face. “What the hell were you talking about?”

 

“You know,” Bucky looks him straight in the eye. “You just don’t want to admit you know. Haven’t you thought about it before, the reason they’re so close and all?”

 

“They’re best friends. Zaara said they have a lot in common,” Steve murmurs, his thoughts dancing around the truth.

 

“Rogue is her kill-switch,” Bucky says with brutality. For a moment, his visage reminds Steve of the Winter Soldier, but the image quickly vanishes.

 

“No,” Steve breathes. “ _That’s it?_ Jean Gray . . . the Phoenix force . . . Rogue as a kill-switch?”

 

"Her insurance policy,” Bucky muses grimly. “Zaara always says it’s only a human body. Can’t blame her. She wants to protect her kids, protect _all_ the kids here. It’s her job. So she lives half a life. She doesn’t date, does everything she can to try to protect the people she cares about, puts herself last . . . Sound familiar?” Bucky smirks at him.

 

Steve winces.

 

“And she ain’t exactly anxious to add to that list,” he continues. “I catch things, in her mind. Every now and then when she thinks I’m not listening—that’s why she doesn’t want to keep me tethered in the long run. She don’t want us to figure it out. She’s vulnerable, Steve. _To us_. She doesn’t _want_ to care. But she _does_. More than she means to. She’s still human.”

 

Steve takes a deep breath. _It’s going to take a lot of time to sort all this through,_ he tells himself. All the feelings she’s given him since she entered his life flash through his mind. Longings and yearnings, jealousies over this and that. From getting Bucky back to meeting the children, all the fun they’ve had with Ellie and Henry, all the passion he feels for her—it’s so much. And he finally accepts that he has fallen for her . . . fallen in love. “I have a date with Sharon tomorrow night,” he murmurs, numb.

 

“You got lousy timing, punk,” Bucky only shakes his head. “But you’d better go. Zaara needs you to.”

 

“Needs me to?” Steve repeats, incredulous.

 

“She needs to see you belong with her. She’s bound to get jealous, I can tell already. Might knock some sense into her. Even with this Phoenix business. That is, if you still think so,” he poses the suggestion as a challenge.

 

But Steve has already made up his mind. “I love Zaara, Buck. No matter what she thinks. Or does. And I’m not gonna let fear or anything else stop me.”

 

“I know,” his friend agrees quietly. “So whattaya gonna do about Sharon?”

 

“I’ll go on the date,” Steve looks him in the eye. “I promised. I’m meeting her in Brooklyn. We can talk, put things to rest. This ain’t the life I was expectin’ to have, but I gotta live it, Buck.”

 

“I know it is,” Bucky says solemnly. “Say, you think you patched things up with Stark?”

 

“I made a start,” Steve muses. “We’ll see what Sharon says about that tomorrow night.”

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

“I know she’s enhanced,” Sharon whispers in his ear, milling through the crowd and staying close to his side. It makes him feel as if they’re on some sort of covert mission, disguised as patrons at a trendy Brooklyn art gallery. She wears a short black dress that is understated and elegant, but not exactly daring. It’s as if she already knows where the evening is headed.

 

“You do?” he replies, sounding unsurprised. “You must be good at your job. How’s Stark?” His mind is a little preoccupied by the drawings. People and places, images of his youth surround him all rendered into hazy histories composed of pencil, charcoal and canvas.

 

“He’s . . . alright. Rhodie’s doing great,” Sharon smiles. “Guess your friend is a miracle worker.”

 

“Guess so,” Steve sighs, hating to have information about Zaara floating around out there. Still, he knows if anyone can be trusted, it’s Sharon. “You know this is strictly classified, right?”

 

“I know,” she nods. “But with the inhumans . . .”

 

“There’s a lot at stake. The children . . .” his voice fades, not wishing to be overheard though this is hardly the sort of crowd they’d need to worry about.

 

“Funny,” Sharon muses. “I could tell right away you have feelings for her, you know. And I went and asked you out anyways. Do you suppose there was something unusual about that?”

 

Steve stops and leads her out of the room into a hallway which appears to be empty. “Sharon.”

 

She looks at him expectantly. “Does your friend happen to practice mental manipulation like Ms. Maximoff?”

 

Steve checks up and down the hall. “Okay. Alright, Sharon. You really _are_ good at your job. The answer is . . . yes. And she wanted me to go out with you.”

 

“Do _you_ want to go out with me?” To her credit, Sharon is completely calm. Though she would definitely love to be dating Steve Rogers, she only wants it if he wants it, too. Mutuality is mandatory for her and she is not the sort of woman to ever pine for a man who isn’t interested or is otherwise taken. Besides, there’s that little fling she’d had with Agent Richards a few months ago, a Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome type who’s been chasing after her for a while now.

 

“Sharon,” Steve hesitates, hating himself. “I owe you . . .”

 

“That’s not exactly what a girl longs to hear, Steve,” she raises her eyebrows and makes a valiant effort not to smirk at him.

 

“I’m sorry,” he immediately apologizes, feeling awful.

 

“Don’t be sorry for telling the truth.” To his relief, her smile is genuine now. “Aunt Peggy always said that takes guts. I respect that, Steve. Now, shall we see the rest of the exhibit?”

 

“Alright,” he smiles quietly, remembering the way her lips felt against his own back in Leipzig. It had been a golden moment for him, only weeks before he met Zaara. The culmination of a lifetime of waiting, to finally kiss the girl. But then his mind reaches back to another kiss from many years before that; the kiss he shared with Peggy just before he leaped to catch the Valkyrie.

 

_I only ever seem to get kissed just before disaster strikes. Story of my life, so far._

 

They return to the exhibit and weave in and out of a thick crowd of art enthusiasts in an effort to peruse the many drawings. There seems to be hundreds of them. Sharon asks him about a sketch of a particular neighbourhood that displays a stretch of historic buildings. Images of stock characters mill all around them. It draws him back in time and compels him to regale her with tales of the good old days and what life was like before cars took over, how horse drawn wagons would deliver the milk in the mornings, how he and Bucky used to play ball in the streets. In the midst of a particularly animated tale, his eyes land upon a portrait of a woman.

 

He comes to an abrupt stop.

 

It’s a candid. A rather sexy portrait, actually. A nude woman lies in bed, her gaze directed outwards towards the artist as if she is meeting his eyes. She appears relaxed, joyful, and completely identical to the woman he loves.

 

_Zaara. That’s Zaara._

 

And in the next heartbeat, Steve blacks out.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Sharon calls for a car to bring Steve back to the X-mansion. She now knows the location of the building and the existence of a school for gifted youngsters. She has no doubt about what gifted refers to. Bucky meets her at the door.

 

“Thanks, doll,” he mumbles, heading straight for Steve and taking him in his arms. Sharon explains he’d pass out and wake up again. It happened over and over, his moments of lucidity lasting for only a few minutes. It all started with an intense headache; he’d described it as a pounding pain in his brow.

 

“He seems to be in some weird state of shock,” she tells him. “He wakes up every now and then and rubs his head, says he has a headache. He won’t go to the hospital.”

 

“I got this,” Bucky says, but Steve suddenly wakes.

 

“Put me down, Buck. I’m fine,” he insists gruffly.

 

“You sure, pal?” Bucky asks.

 

“Just, just take Sharon to see the painting.” Steve cringes with pain.

 

“What painting?” Bucky asks.

 

“We were looking at pictures in the gallery,” Sharon patiently explains. “When he saw one of this woman who looked like Zaara Xaviar, he fainted.”

 

“Not that,” Steve interrupts impatiently. “The painting of _Peggy_ , Buck. The one by the office.”

 

“Oh,” Bucky nods. “Okay.” And he leaves Steve on the settee by the front entrance and leads Sharon to the office. Zaara had taken the two of them to visit this painting on their very first day at the mansion. It meant a great deal to Steve. “Guess Steve wants you to know that Peggy Carter helped to start this school.”

 

“Did she?” Sharon asks in surprise, though she knows she shouldn’t be too surprised whenever she encounters new evidence of her aunt’s vast influence on the world.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky nods. “Apparently, the people who started this school had a close relationship with Shield. The _real_ Shield. Not Hydra.”

 

“Apparently,” Sharon nods thoughtfully and considers the compelling portrait. It is a full-length depiction of her aunt. In it, Peggy Carter smiles enigmatically, lips and nails painted fire engine read, resting her hand upon an elegant velvet chair. The image is both formal yet intimate and Sharon is stunned. Some part of her remembers the many wreaths sent to Peggy’s funeral service and she makes a note to check on the names of the organizations that chose to honour her aunt.

 

“You know this is all classified. Right?” Bucky asks.

 

Sharon nods solemnly.

 

“By the way, I’m, uh, sorry I tried to kill you,” he says softly. “I hope you can forgive me.”

 

Sharon regards him quizzically. “Are they helping you here?”

 

He smiles sheepishly. “Good guess.”

 

“Good.” She glances back at the painting. “May I, do you think I could take a photo of it?”

 

“I don’t see why not,” he shrugs. _She ain’t exactly photographing the entire school or the people in it. Besides, if Zaara thinks it’s a worry, she’ll just wipe her mind._

 

“Thanks,” Sharon nods politely and takes out her phone. On the way out, she checks on Steve again. He insists he is just fine, though he won’t release the manila envelope from his clutches. He keeps pressing against his chest. “Be careful, Steve,” she warns him, squeezing his forearm and bids them both goodnight, reminding Bucky to look after him. Steve continues to have several minutes of lucidity before a headache starts to pound on him again. When the pangs seem to lessen, Bucky asks to see the drawing.

 

“It’s her, Buck, I swear it’s her. It has to be,” Steve winces in pain as he removes the drawing from the envelope. He insisted on purchasing it right there on the spot, as soon as he woke up from the first blackout in fact. The director of the gallery hated taking money from a person who seemed to be in such ill health, but Steve insisted. It cost him fifteen thousand dollars of his own savings, but he didn’t care. He had to possess it immediately.

 

Bucky’s eyes widen as he takes in the image. “She’s beautiful. Looks like Zaara, alright—if she were alive in ’42. No way it can be her. Sorry, pal,” he gives Steve's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. But the face of the woman in the bed gives him a real chill. _Uncanny. I can see why it spooked him so much. Hell, it spooks me, too._ “You got it bad, Steve. How much did it cost you to buy this?”

 

“Enough,” Steve says stubbornly. But he won’t listen to Bucky. He knows, deep in his bones, that this _is_ Zaara and he plans on showing her the portrait when she wakes in the morning. But as he stares at the drawing, the lines scratched out in pencil seem so familiar, so typical of his own style and another pang strikes him. He blacks out again. Bucky slings his heavy body over his shoulder and carries him up the stairs, putting him to bed until morning.

 

He wisely takes the portrait and hides it in Zaara’s office.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been wanting to try and shorten my chapters, but I have obviously failed! I wanted to post this in smaller parts, but then I really felt the theme of Someone to Watch Over Me fit the three or four different sections well. And if I split it up, I'd have to find three or four other songs to name the extra chapters, lol.
> 
> But for the future, it's my goal to shorten the chapters so I can post more frequently. I guess we'll wait and see how that goes ;-)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	17. A Kiss to Build a Dream On

 

_Give me a kiss to build a dream on_  
_And my imagination will thrive upon that kiss._  
_Sweetheart, I ask no more than this_  
_A kiss to build a dream on._  
_Give me a kiss before you leave me_  
_And my imagination will feed my hungry heart._  
_Leave me one thing before we part_  
_A kiss to build a dream on._  
_And when I’m alone with my fancies, I’ll be with you_  
_Weaving romances, making believe they’re true._  
_Oh, give me your lips for just a moment_  
_And my imagination will make that moment live._  
_Give me what you alone can give_  
_A kiss to build a dream on._

 

 

 

 

Tossing and turning all through the night, Zaara worries so much about Steve that she phones Hank first thing in the morning. The brilliant research scientist drops everything and heads straight over from his lab in New Jersey. Truly, his admiration for Captain America knows no bounds. _It figures_ , she tells herself. _He’s always wanted to meet Steve. Now he has a great excuse._ But the kindly gesture barely makes a dent in her mountain of fear. With Bucky squeezing her tight for comfort, she watches as he sleeps and wonders if she ought to draw out the spectral image of the young, skinny Steve and read his mind again like she did in Wakanda. Then, maybe she can figure out what went wrong. _Goin’ in through the back door_ , Bucky calls it. The former Winter Soldier had shown her the offending portrait late in the night after Steve blacked out and, once they had him safe in bed, she could finally study the drawing at her leisure.

It was uncanny. The resemblance between her and the sexy, flirtatious girl in the picture seemed far too close for comfort, even if the expression on her face was not one Zaara had ever seen on her own before. The woman was nude and lying in bed with a nonchalance that made Zaara blush. Back bare and fully exposed, wearing nothing more than a smile, it was as if she were floating in some sexy sea of bliss. Her eyes stared out of the portrait in pure rapture, like she was completely and hopelessly in love. _Who the hell could she be?_ Zaara wondered. She found the whole thing bewildering. Undeniably, the portrait had a terrifying effect on Steve and Zaara knew he must not see it again. She thanked Bucky profusely for thinking to hide it away in her office. When Steve woke, of course, he immediately demanded to see it again and Bucky found himself fetching it since it was the only way he would agree to stay in bed. There could be no denying the man’s stubbornness. Zaara feared he would haul off and clock his best friend so she allowed it, and remained close by his side all the while. He had been predictably outraged that Bucky had the nerve to hide the drawing from him at all— _his_ drawing, as he called it. And when he laid eyes upon it again, he blacked out as quickly as he did before. Zaara bit her tongue until it bled.

Devastated to see him collapse, she fears the worst and counts the minutes until Hank’s arrival, grateful to let Bucky look after the kids so she can stay with Steve. With Zaara unwilling to leave Steve’s side, Rogue takes Henry to school and even offers to keep Ellie under her wing for the day, though the child is quite frightened for Steve and the way Zaara worries for him. _Ellie’s always been good at reading me_ , Zaara sighs. _Too good_. But soon enough, the child is on her way and Bucky carries an unconscious Steve down to the lab. The uncooperative Captain manages to wake and protests in earnest. He even demands to see the drawing again.

“Steve,” Zaara leans in close until her breath tickles his face. “Try to relax. We’re going to hook you up to the monitor and see what’s going on. Bucky showed you the picture and you had another blackout. Something is seriously wrong so don’t fight us, okay? We need to figure this out.”

“I’m fine,” he replies gruffly, though he hates to refuse her anything. “When can I get my picture back?”

The question makes her want to cry. “It’s too dangerous, Steve. You black out every time you see it. Please listen to me. I’m having a friend come by to check on you. He’s a doctor, he’ll set things right. You’ve got to stop looking at that picture—at least for now. Okay?”

“I’m fine,” he insists, barely keeping it together as the frenzy takes hold of him again. He doesn’t understand it and he doesn’t care. _I just need to see her again. Can’t give up. Can’t stop thinking about her._

“You’re scaring the children,” Zaara counters shrilly. “And you’re scaring me. Bucky, too.” It’s the only thing she can say to stop him. “If you think it looks like me, if you have some pressing need to look at my face, I’m here right in front of you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“So you saw it?” he asks wearily. They have finally reached the lab and Bucky lays him down on the exam table. Zaara fetches a small pillow and tucks it under his head.

“I did,” she acknowledges softly, deftly arranging the pillow so as to keep from looking him in the eye.

“It’s you,” he insists, sounding terribly desperate and deeply vulnerable.

“It sure as hell looks like me,” she smiles, acknowledging how much it means to him. _Why should I deny it?_ “I must have had a twin back in 1942. A doppelganger, isn’t that what they called them?”

“No. It’s you.” Steve sets his lips in a firm, stubborn line.

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees sardonically. “Our girl loves to travel back in time, take off all her clothes, and let people draw her picture. Does it every other Sunday.”

“Bucky, please,” Zaara softly chastises him. “Look, I know you think it’s me, Steve . . .”

“It is,” he exhorts, trembling and unable to shake that sexy, adoring image from his mind. Every line and curve is like a brand on his consciousness, sending shivers all over his body. It will be marked on him forever. How he longs to have that drawing back—a drawing identical to the woman he loves. A drawing in a style so like his own.

“Steve, I can honestly tell you I have never taken off my clothes and posed for a picture,” Zaara sighs, trying to act casual about it even while she blushes. “That’s not something I would ever do. It couldn’t be me. I’m boring, I’ve got kids. It’s flattering if you think I could be a model but really, I’m not.”

He gazes at her so sullenly it makes her feel as if she’s betrayed him. She can’t explain how.

“We’ll figure this out. I promise,” she whispers and burrows her face into the cradle of his shoulder. It feels risky and provocative being so close to him, touching him so openly, but she knows he needs her right now and she can’t think of any other way to help. _Because there’s no way in hell I’ll let him look at that picture again. Not without Hank._ And indeed, her touch soothes him and the skin contact makes her realize he wants her in a way that is not unlike his intense desire for the woman in that drawing. How he longs to have Zaara gaze at him the way she does, a Mona Lisa smile on her lips. _But I can’t be that to you, Steve. I just can’t._ “Please. You’ve got to promise me you won’t go looking for that picture again. Not until we figure out what the hell is wrong with you and why these blackouts keep happening.”

By now, his face is ashen though his eyes have taken on a peculiar fire. His voice sounds so earnest as he pleads with her. “Zaara, I know it’s you in that picture. I, I don’t mean anything by it. You’re beautiful. That picture’s not any kind of . . . It’s not a pin-up. I know. I can tell that whoever drew it . . . I can tell that they loved you.”

Bucky gasps, his supersoldier memory jogging back to the image that’s become Steve’s obsession. His gut clenches because he knows Steve’s drawing style too well, spent years watching him sketch and paint, is intimately familiar with the way his best friend sees the world and renders it on paper. _What. The. Hell. Could it be? There’s no way._

“It wasn’t me, Steve,” Zaara shakes her head vehemently and casts an accusing gaze at Bucky. _Don’t you start now, Bucky Barnes_. “How could it be? Whoever drew that picture did it in 1942, for heaven’s sake. I know it upsets you. It’s done something bad to you. And we’re going to find out why.”

He blinks back tears.

“Steve,” she lowers her voice to a whisper and puts both arms around him now, breasts flush against his chest, mouth close to his. “It’s alright. I’m here. You said you care about me, so focus on _me_ , not some old drawing. Okay?” She strokes his cheeks with her thumbs, trying to soothe him, but he only looks sadder.

“Zaara. You’re wrong,” he insists, tension gripping his body even while she lavishes affection on him.

“Steve,” she begs softly. “Don’t do this. Don’t upset yourself again.” But she can see him struggle. “Please,” she begs again and the look on his face is so reproachful it breaks her heart. She leans in closer. “What can I do to help you? What do you want me to do?”

“What I always want you to do,” he murmurs so softly Bucky’s ears barely catch it.

Her heart flutters and she knows she is caught. She can’t bear to see him in such pain, she’ll do anything to help him. Bracing herself, she leans close until she feels his breath enter between her lips which, to her surprise, have parted. “Okay.” And before she can think about it, she brushes her mouth over his. It’s a ghost of a kiss, but it touches him nonetheless. He widens his eyes, startled and elated, not quite believing she gave in. But then he can see it: the worry in her gaze, the longing to make everything alright, to have him be his strong self again and not this ailing man laid out on a table. And Bucky watches as his best friend gazes at her with glowing elation. _That kiss is taking him away._ Bucky holds his breath and, in the next moment, Steve’s eyes close and his lights go out. Zaara begins to cry.

“He’s gonna be alright, doll. Trust me. Our Steve is tough,” Bucky reassures her, feeling every speck of her pain while Zaara falls into his arms and sobs into his shoulder. Sitting himself down on a lab stool, he unceremoniously takes her in his lap. “You cryin’ for him, doll?” he asks gently, stroking her hair. “What for? Thought you don’t wanna date him.”

“It doesn’t mean I don’t care about him, you jerk,” she says between her tears.

“Oh, yeah? That what that kiss was for?” he demands somewhat crudely.

Zaara smacks him mildly in the chest with her palm, laughing through her tears. “He always wants me to kiss him, if you must know. It was only a pity-kiss.”

“Hmmm . . . Doubt he cares what kind of kiss you give him, long as he gets one,” Bucky muses. “Say doll, if you’re givin’ out pity kisses, I’ll take two, please.”

She smacks him again and finally notices that she is planted firmly in his lap and God help her, it feels so good to have his thick thighs supporting her bottom, strong arms around her and breasts soft against the hard muscles of his chest. Bucky reads her feelings fully now for they are completely unguarded, but he gallantly declines to point it out. Instead, he remains quiet as she gazes upon Steve’s sleeping face, a pang of worry striking her heart. Bucky feels that, too. Life with the tether offers him a few key advantages, and being able to read Zaara’s pain is one of them. “I know,” he croons tenderly, still stroking her hair. “I’m worried about him, too. But if your doc is as good as you say he is, Steve’s in good hands.”

“Okay,” she nods bravely, wiping away her tears.

When Hank arrives, Bucky makes a valiant effort to adjust to the thick swath of blue fur and bulk that abruptly takes up most of the space in the lab. Doctor Hank McCoy is the one of the sweetest, most intelligent people Zaara has ever known and Bucky watches with great interest as she welcomes him like a long-lost father. He, in turn, greets her most warmly, but quickly gets down to business.

“Blackouts, hmm?” Hank murmurs to himself, tugging at the blue whiskers on his chin thoughtfully. “Sorry to have to meet Captain America in such circumstances, but we’ll get to the bottom of this. His healing factor should put us well ahead of the equation at the very least—unless it happens to be the cause of the problem. But I don’t think there’s any need to worry, Zaara,” he says kindly, putting a heavy paw on her shoulder. Zaara rests her hand on top of it.

“I induced his sleep about half an hour before you got here,” she explains, dry-eyed through he can tell she’s been crying. “I’ve only ever read his mind once. He has some kind of mental shield and I can’t get past it unless I psi-blast him.”

“So how did you manage to read him in the first place?” Hank inquires, knowing that mental shields, though not completely unheard of, are quite rare.

“By drawing out an astral projection of his original body, the one he had from before he took that serum. And even then, I had to touch the image as if I was making skin contact,” she explains.

“Fascinating,” Hank nods and starts tapping away at a keyboard, glancing at one of the many monitors in the lab. “Let’s see what we’ve got.” With a casual efficiency, the brilliant biochemist attaches a series of neural nodes across Steve’s skull and in moments, an interface is established. Zaara and Bucky watch as an array of red lines pulsate across the screen though they cannot make any sense of it. Hank, however, doesn’t bother looking up from the keyboard. “Please don’t be alarmed by what you see on the screen. We’re monitoring the Captain’s brain activity only in a general sense. Early on, scientists thought they could study specific brainwaves and assign them specific meanings. But we’ve now learned that we can only measure how active your brain is in a relative sense, like looking at a city from a distance at night. The intensity of the lights, the expanse, the colours, and the patterns can tell you if it’s a big city or a small city, an active city or a quiet place; whether it has an airport or a radio tower, for example. By studying the lights, we can tell that New York is big and bustling with a lot of activity while a smaller city obviously lacks such a nightlife. So, these particular readings are useful inasmuch as we can tell how active Captain Rogers’ brain is--not what he’s thinking.” But when the scientist finally glances up and catches sight of the screen, he inhales and scratches his hairy blue forearms thoughtfully.

“Hank—what is it?” Zaara asks, sensing his rapid change of mood.

“Fascinating . . .” the blue mutant murmurs. “You mentioned he blacked out when he viewed a specific drawing. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” she confirms.

“And have you ever known him to black out before—now or in the distant past?” Hank queries, staring hard at the screen.

“No. Never,” Bucky replies.

“Well, the intensity and pattern of activity I’m observing here is clearly indicative of triggered memory, the strongest form of memory we know. A cue provokes your mind to flood with memory; that’s where all this activity is coming from. It’s a very distinctive thing, a spike in the hippocampus with a very specific pattern. This is indeed one of the few types of brainwaves we can accurately identify though we are still unable to define the content of the memory. Even in a relative sense, triggered memory is like a city getting hit by an A-bomb; it’s a very short and intense burst of activity that is unlike anything else. Nothing comes close to it.”

“Are you certain that he’s having a memory then?” Zaara asks.

“A triggered memory, to be specific. That’s the problem with these brainscans,” Hank continues. “In most cases, you get the same results whether the subject is viewing the Mona Lisa or a hot dog. It only tells me that your brain is active—with the exception of triggered memory. You must understand: very few phenomena stand out, and triggered memory is one of them. Sure, we can distinguish between conscious and unconscious, but triggered memory has a very specific pattern. The studies are fascinating and the results are very clear: that picture must have triggered a memory in the Captain. He may have even seen it before. But for whatever reason, it’s a memory his conscious mind cannot access. As for the blackouts, there’s a well-known theory in the treatment of PTSD. Blackouts can be understood as a defense mechanism against traumatic memory recall. The mind is protecting you from the trauma. If this is so, then the Captain is having an extreme reaction. He’s certainly spent enough time on the battlefield; like most soldiers, he probably has some post-traumatic responses, though we don’t know what they are.”

“There wasn’t anything violent in that picture,” Bucky interjects. “It was a nude, a drawing of a girl. And it was from 1942. That was before his time in service.”

“But we don’t know if he ever saw it before,” Hank rubs his beard again. “Perhaps it reminds him of something else. Or, perhaps he first saw it when it was made, somewhere between 1942 and 1945, I imagine, before he went into the ice. Could you find more information about it?”

“We can check with the gallery,” Zaara suggests. “I think it came from a private collection.”

“There’s something else you oughtta know,” Bucky adds dryly. “The woman in the drawing looked just like Zaara.”

“Oh . . . I see,” Hank raises his blue eyebrows in surprise.

“Hank, there’s . . . There’s nothing going on between us,” Zaara fumbles in embarrassment.

“Nothing I should know about?” Hank queries and she blushes. “Zaara, I hope you understand I’m only asking for medical reasons.”

“No,” she shakes her head sadly. “No—I mean, there’s nothing going on between us but Steve . . . Steve’s interested in me. He pretty much asked me out on a date. I had to refuse, of course. But nothing else is going on, no mental manipulation, nothing. I swear it, Hank. It makes no sense. That picture looks like me, but it’s not me because I wasn’t alive in 1942. He found it at an art exhibit with other drawings from the time period.”

“ _His_ time period,” Bucky adds. “You know he’s an artist, Doc? And that drawing’s in his style. And it’s from Brooklyn.”

Zaara’s jaw drops. She’s never seen any of Steve’s drawings before, but she catches the images in Bucky’s mind. Uncanny.

“Hmm . . .” Hank rubs his beard again. “Well, that’s good to know. It obviously reminds him of something. See if you can find anything else out on that side of things.”

“So how can you help him?” Bucky poses the question skeptically.

“I’m glad you asked,” Hank murmurs, facing him fully so that the former Winter Soldier has to take a deep breath and step back. _I sure as hell wouldn’t wanna tangle with you, Big Ol' Blue._

“Zaara, you have no trouble reading Sergeant Barnes, do you?” Hank turns back to face Zaara, sensing Bucky’s trepidation. As usual, the brilliant scientist is acutely aware of the imposing figure he presents to people through no fault of his own. “I understand the serum given to him was quite similar to the Captain’s. There may some particularities to supersoldier brainwaves, you see. Not only do they boast an impressive healing factor, but from what I understand they also possess a heightened capacity for sensory input, an extreme ability to adapt, and a sense of calculative efficiency that rapidly compensates for the exigencies of a changing environment.”

“Hydra only made me into a bad imitation of Steve,” Bucky offers bitterly, not bothering himself with Hank’s overly technical explanation.

Hank and Zaara exchange knowing glances. “On the contrary, Sergeant Barnes,” Hank muses. “We could use you as a prototype to help the Captain. You’ve clearly demonstrated an ability to survive and adapt that easily rivals his own. If we monitor your brain activities, we can get a baseline to show us what a supersoldier brain looks like at rest. We don’t know what the serum did to both your brains. But given a few differences here or there, it should help us establish a baseline for the Captain so we can stabilize him. We want to see whether his brain shuts down or if it’s still active after he has a blackout. Sergeant Barnes, you have obviously seen the same picture and not blacked out. So if we can get your patterns to match each other, then the Captain’s problems might be over.”

“I don’t know,” Zaara demurs. “I don’t want to hook Bucky up to any sort of monitor. I don’t even like bringing him to a lab in the first place. He’s spent more than enough time in these places over the years. I hate to ask it of him.”

“I’ll do it,” Bucky interjects quietly. “For Steve.”

Hank pauses and gazes at him with a great deal of respect before he speaks. “You are a hero to us all, Sergeant Barnes. I hope you know that. Mental manipulation is an indisputable phenomenon, though few have had the misfortune of experiencing it for themselves. I’m afraid I’ve had many opportunities to study it in-depth—more than I’ve wished for, to tell the truth. People like you who have had it forced upon them deserve peace. Indeed, I regret asking this of you. Zaara and I understand why you may wish never to see the inside of a laboratory again. But this is the fastest way for us to help Captain Rogers.”

“Hank is the best, Bucky,” Zaara murmurs, compassion in her eyes. “If anyone can snap Steve out of it, it’s him.”

With Bucky’s blessing, Hank hooks the former Winter Soldier up to the monitor and soon has a baseline to compare to Steve’s erratic brainwaves. Once he inputs the data, he tells them it’s time for Zaara to bring Steve back to consciousness. “We need to explain to him how we will proceed,” Hank cautions. “I could have you enter his mind, as the Professor would, and search out whatever caused the blackouts. But I know that’s not your area of expertise. Something rather unusual is happening here. There may perhaps be a . . . pharmaceutical approach we could use—provided the Captain agrees not to view the offending portrait again.”

“I doubt it,” Bucky shakes his head. “He’s always been mighty stubborn.”

“I wonder if mighty stubborn caused the problem in the first place,” Zaara sighs bitterly. “I swear, Hank, Steve might as well be a mutant with the power of stubborn. It’s why I can’t read his mind. He’s practically made of stubborn. Just imagine him at the age of three,” she shakes her head. “His poor mother.”

Hank chuckles and winks at her. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

Bucky gives them a wry grin. “Jerk’s always been a pigheaded pain in the ass.”

But Zaara only moves closer to the unconscious man on the table. Her feelings surprise her. To see him sleep so sweetly despite the terror of these blackouts does something to her and suddenly, she hates to wake him up. They make her feel so vulnerable, these tremulous flutters of desire that always come upon her whenever he is near. They remind her of that drawing and the expression on the model’s face; it had been both sultry and glowing with love. _Could I ever feel that way about anyone? Not in this lifetime_. Sighing, she caresses his cheek. “Wake up, Steve. It’s time.”

Blinking in his sleep, Steve uses his fists to rub his eyes. Immediately, he detects the many sensors planted across his forehead. They itch and just before he rips them off, Zaara grabs his hands. Even with his eyes shut, he recognizes her touch. It calms him enough so that he surrenders and opens them.

“Hi,” she whispers.

“Hi,” he smiles back, drinking in her image, her wide-eyed gaze so full of concern.  _What a way to wake up_. But all too soon, he remembers he is in the lab. “What happened?”

“Hank came over to help you. Brace yourself,” she warns. “He’s, uh, rather unusual, even for a mutant.”

“Captain,” Hank steps forward proudly and Steve gulps in surprise. Despite the many powered people he has met in his lifetime, furry and blue is not anything he has ever seen before. “I’m Dr. Hank McCoy. It’s an honor to meet you.”

“Doctor,” Steve greets him in a husky voice. “Thanks for coming. You gonna stop the blackouts?”

“Hopefully,” Hank smiles sadly. “We’re going to give you some medication that should keep you sedated and reduce your susceptibility to blackouts, as it were—as long as you avoid the trigger. It seems that drawing everyone’s talking about has had a . . . deleterious effect on you?”

Steve nods gruffly.

“This unique sedative is designed to compensate for mutants with a healing factor. It will slow down your brainwaves to form a holding pattern not unlike that of your friend, Sergeant Barnes,” Hank patiently explains, gesturing at the two monitors. “Here are yours, and here are your friend’s. He graciously agreed to provide us with a baseline. Your resting patterns are not completely identical, but they do show a remarkable similarity. You seem to be back to normal, for the moment. I’d hate to have to test it out, but I imagine the sight of the offending portrait is what puts yours out of whack. The data is very clear: you’ve had an episode of triggered memory.”

“Triggered memory?” Steve asks, bewildered. _What the hell could it be?_

“If you stay on the sedative for at least three days and get plenty of rest, provided you refrain from looking at that portrait, your brain activity should stabilize and things ought to go back to normal, especially given your healing factor,” Hank continues kindly.

Steve sighs bitterly. “Thank you, doctor.” _If that drawing triggered a memory in me, what the hell could it be? Zaara wasn’t alive in 1942._

“That’s easier said than done, Hank,” Zaara says softly.

“Clearly,” Hank agrees. “What that portrait means to you, Captain, and the effect it has had on you is beyond my ken. Both Zaara and Sergeant Barnes have seen it and it has clearly not had the same effect on them. If only Charles were here . . .”

“Hank,” Zaara murmurs, wrapping her arms around him. Steve and Bucky are not bothered by it all for her embrace seems loving, like a daughter for her father.

“I know, my dear,” Hank returns her embrace and wipes a tear from his eye. “We all mourn him. There will never be anyone to replace him. As for you, Captain, you should rest. Stay in bed for the next few days, perhaps even a week. Zaara, I encourage you to take a look upstairs once the Captain has gone at least forty-eight hours without an incident. Search his memory, if you can. You might find something. But above all, I must stress that Captain Rogers not view that portrait again—not until you have some inkling as to why it had an effect on you. There are only so many blackouts the human body can endure—even an enhanced one. Otherwise, it’ll be back down to the lab with you, sir.”

“Yes, doctor,” Steve replies submissively.

“That’s right, pal,” Bucky adds with a smirk. “And unconscious supersoldiers are damn heavy.”

“I could always teleport him,” Zaara sighs, trying to lighten things up since things feel so grim.

“And who’ll have the honor of cleaning the vomit this time?” Bucky demands, hands on hips.

“Alright you two. I get it,” Steve groans. “No more picture—for now.”

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Three days pass.

As Hank predicted, Steve’s brainwaves gradually stabilize and flow at a rate similar to Bucky’s. Zaara refuses to leave his side through it all and is grateful she has so many friends to assist with the children. Something compels her to stay close to Steve, to be his solace while he grieves for the portrait he must not see. It means so much to him, this curious drawing, far more than words can say. As he ponders its mystery, she promises he will get it back someday. Almost ready to read his mind again, she puts it off when he becomes piqued by the company she’s keeping.

“You know, it makes a man wonder,” Steve says suddenly, looking up at her through incredibly long lashes from where he lies in bed. They’ve kept him there the whole time even though he is restless and doesn’t like it. The children visit often and he even wrestles with Henry, using the pillows and comforter to soften the child’s fierce blows. Ellie cuddles with him and shares his naps, always shooting her mother accusatory glances since she feels, somehow, Zaara is to blame for it all. Bucky watches and grins, knowing Steve is just fine—as long as he stays away from that portrait. It is something else for an otherwise healthy supersoldier to be bedridden for three days but Steve finds himself enjoying it, especially since Zaara brings him his meals and barely leaves his side. She hates to see him suffer and he knows it. And though he feels bad to have her worry about him, there’s some part of him that loves it. “The way you worry about me. It’s almost like you care or something.”

She frowns. “It’s no secret. So what? I care about you.”

“Enough to go on a date with me?” He looks hopeful, but there’s just enough sass in his voice to tease her.

“Only out of pity,” she smirks, even though her body practically sings at the thought of spending time alone with him. _Traitor_ , she tells it.

“I’ll take your pity,” he replies mischievously, looking at her in that puppy-dog way of his. Somehow, it feels natural to toy with her like this even though he’s never really figured out how to flirt. Flirting comes second-nature to Bucky, but something tells Steve that his connection to Zaara goes far deeper than that. That portrait hit him hard and he has to force his mind away from it yet again. _It does me no good to keep thinking about it. I can’t have it back. Not yet._

“I already gave you a pity-kiss. Three days ago. Remember?” she rolls her eyes, trying to distance herself even though she’s sitting right next to him on the bed.

“It didn’t feel like a pity-kiss,” he replies innocently. Recalling the soft touch of her lips on his, the way her breasts brushed against his chest, a flame ignites deep inside him. “Felt like a real one.”

“Steve,” Zaara warns, losing patience. He’s playing with her feelings now. “Watch your step.”

He gazes at her sullenly, trying to decipher the expression on her face. “It’s the Phoenix, isn’t it?” he finally murmurs. Bucky has left the room, the children are playing, and he has her undivided attention.

“The Phoenix?” Zaara squeaks, aghast. “Not that again. Look Steve, there’s nothing to discuss. You know I can’t live a normal life. There’s so many reasons. The Phoenix is just the most obvious one. Sometimes, we have to accept things the way they are.”

Something inside him snaps. “Look, if I can’t have my picture back, then we’ve got to hash this out. Why are we even fighting it, Zaara? I know there’s something between us.” He blurts out the words completely without fear this time. She can’t reject him—she won’t. Her actions have already given him the answer. She cares about him. If she would reject him, why did she spend three days by his side, worry gnawing at her gut? Why would she have touched him so tenderly, stroked his hair, watched every morsel of food that went into his mouth, and scolded the children to let him rest even though he was feeling perfectly fine? Why would she have kissed him down in the lab the way she did, an expression on her face not so unlike that portrait?

Tears swell in her eyes. “You play dirty, Rogers.”

“I play honest,” he counters and opens his arms wide, not quite believing his own boldness. “Come here.”

And she comes closer as if he has her in some kind of trance. _That’s the power he has over me. Why am I so worried about him? Why do I want to touch him, kiss him, all the damn time?_ She resorts to begging. “Steve. Don’t do this.”

“You can feel it, too. Can’t you?” he whispers, slipping his hands over her forearms, drawing her closer until their mouths are in kissing distance. He’s sitting up tall in the bed and pulls her in until she’s actually sitting on his lap. “Zaara—when you care about someone, you don’t let fear get in the way. That’s not living.”

“It’s how I live,” she protests, her voice crackling. Steve’s lap is thick, like Bucky’s. A wall of solid muscle that’s warm and welcoming and she could melt right into it. Without her knowing, her lips part and Steve moves in for the kill.

“No,” he disagrees. “You don’t have to live that way. That’s not living. You deserve a life. And . . . so do I.” Her lips quiver as he puts his mouth over hers and gives her a long, deep kiss that makes her head spin. Their lips and tongues dance and their breaths come together as one. Without her realizing, her hands wander to his throat and slide down to his chest where she can feel the beating of his heart.

By the time it’s over, she can feel her own heart pounding as much as his and she has to slide her body off his lap and put some distance between them. Panting, she can hardly whisper his name. _“Steve.”_

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes softly, though he doesn’t look the least bit sorry. He gets a hold of himself. “That was selfish of me.”

Trying to catch her breath, she looks down at the floor as though she might cry.

“That was . . .” he muses gently, feeling bad to have reduced her to tears. “Too fast. Wasn’t it?”

She squeezes her eyes shut, willing her tears to dry.

“Can’t you admit there’s something between us? And leave it at that?” he asks her so tenderly it makes her look up at him and see the truth in his eyes.

_He cares about me. So much. Almost like . . . like he loves me._

“Zaara. I’m sorry I pushed you. You probably wanna throw me out now. I’m sorry. It’s . . .” he struggles to find the right words. “It’s so hard to stop,” he finally confesses, feeling badly about it. _I really messed up._

“You’re right,” she interjects quietly.

“Right? About what?” he whispers, all ears.

“Right that I care about you,” she admits, her body flushing with fear. “Right about everything. It’s just . . . I can’t.”

Wild joy pierces his heart, but with an iron will he forces himself to put her first. “Do you need some time away from me?” he offers, though it makes him feel desolate inside. “You’ve been stuck with me for three whole days. Do you want me to move into one of those empty rooms downstairs? Or into one of the cottages? I’ll do whatever you want.”

She shakes her head. _God, no. "_ No. No, I’d like you to stay. With me, and with Bucky. And the kids.” She keeps staring down at the floor, unable to bear his gaze but her phone rings and, greatly relieved for the distraction, she checks her messages. “Oh, look. I have an errand to run. In Brooklyn.”

“Brooklyn?” he asks in surprise, his thoughts abruptly torn from their conversation.

“Yeah,” she smiles, relief washing over her. It’s much easier to talk about something aside from her feelings from him. “I’m, uh, I’m buying a house, actually.”

“A house?” he asks in surprise. “In Brooklyn?”

“Yeah,” she nods, smiling harder and meeting his eyes again. “I can’t afford Manhattan. And I really wanted a single-family home. It’s for me and the kids—a place we can go on weekends or whenever we need to get away from it all. I love it here but I want to give Ellie and Henry a house of our own. I want them to have that experience, even if it can’t be full-time. It’s in a good school district, too, in case we ever need it. The inspector is coming Friday and I have to meet him there.”

“Can I come with you?” he asks smoothly while butterflies invade his stomach. Brooklyn. Of all places.

She bites her lip and nods. “Well, if you want to. The house is pretty old, almost a hundred years, so maybe you’d know a few things about the construction.”

“Well,” he admits ruefully. “I never lived in a house, but I’d be glad to take a look around.”

“Sure,” she chuckles lightly. “Why not? Bucky can come, too.”

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

For Zaara, the next few days are like playing a game of catch-up. Catching up on Cerebro, catching up with Theo, with the horses in the stable (Randy and Bob need her attention and though the pregnant mare is coming along well, Zaara still hasn’t managed to get anything done about Deadbeat Dad), and catching up on her sessions with the triplets and with Sam. She still hasn’t had a chance to exercise or to teach her own fitness classes again, not to mention spending any time with Wanda since dealing with Sam’s bad attitude takes time enough as it is. Indeed, the man is understandably bitter at having been reduced to the status of a mere trainee. After years of active duty in the military and multiple missions with the Avengers, he is now in thrall to a gaggle of giggling 15-year old girls who compulsively read each other’s minds and are positively obsessed with boy bands. It’s enough to make Sam hurl. Zaara has a great deal of sympathy for him, but she literally has no time to deal with it. Steve has taken up most of her work week and it was hard enough keeping Sam at bay since he worries about Steve almost as much as she does.

Indeed, when Sam finally discovers what has happened to Steve, he is not amused. Zaara lets him hash it out with his buddy and keeps Bucky far away from them both. Somehow it feels as if they’ve betrayed the man otherwise known as the Falcon and she almost feels pity for Steve who is forced to defend their actions—almost. But Steve has asked her out on a date, pressed her to abandon the policy that has protected her for years. Class 5 mutants don’t date. Anyone. She is skating on thin ice. She’s managed to keep her family safe and insulated from the unthinkable loss suffered by Jean Grey and Scott Summers, even if she can’t exactly call herself happy. _But the children make me happy_ , she argues with herself. _They’re enough. Steve is like a big, fat slice of chocolate cake. I want to have it and I wanna eat it, too, but there’s no way that it’s good for me._

Late in the evening, Zaara’s phone rings. “Uh, hello?” her voice trembles since she doesn’t recognize the caller. Steve glances at her sharply. “Oh . . . Oh, thank you. Thank you, Mr. Stark. It was, uh, no problem. I’d be glad to do it again.”

Bucky’s eyes widen. _Nah. Couldn’t be._

Steve stares back at him. _Must be._

“Oh, there’s really no need,” Zaara protests, blushing slightly. Both Steve and Bucky notice and have to stop themselves from growling. “Yeah, I understand . . . But no, no thanks. Really. Well . . . maybe there’s something. Tomorrow I’m, uh, having a home inspection. In Brooklyn. You can come, if you like. You’re an engineer, aren’t you? I could use a second opinion. I’ll text you the address . . . Alright. Tomorrow, 10am. I’ll see you then.” She hangs up the phone and stares back at the two supersoldiers.

“What gives, doll?” Bucky asks brazenly, still unhappy about the way she reacted to the phone call. It’s a strange and unexpected streak of jealousy for him. _Don’t like you trembling like that when you talk to Stark. It’s uncalled for._

“Well, Tony Stark wanted to thank me. Apparently, Colonel Rhodes’ recovery is coming along very well,” Zaara exhales, not realizing she had been holding her breath.

“How is he?” Steve asks eagerly, struggling to put all jealousy aside. He doesn’t like it any more than Bucky does when another man makes Zaara tremble.  _Reminds me of that Murdock guy._

“Great,” Zaara smiles. “He can feel all the way up and down his legs again. He’s even managed to take a few steps on his own.”

“Fantastic,” he murmurs, and a deep gratitude wipes away much of his bitterness.

“Yeah. But, uh, Tony doesn’t want to be in anyone’s debt. Especially not yours, Steve. I’m sorry,” she sounds apologetic.

“There’s no need to be sorry,” Steve replies quietly. _Tony might never forgive me. I’ll have to live with that._ “Go on.”

“So I told him he could come to the inspection as a thank you gift. He, uh, really wanted to pay me back for helping Rhodie. He offered me diamonds, a luxury car, a bunch of stuff I don’t need. He has this huge need to give me something, so I thought maybe he could offer some engineering advice on the new house. Is that alright with you two?” she asks tentatively.

“Doll, it’s your house,” Bucky only shakes his head. “You don’t hafta ask our permission.”

“You’d better not come then, Buck,” Steve says, his voice full of regret. “You can see the house later, if Zaara ends up buying it. But I’m still going.” He sounds determined. And stubborn.

“Alright, Steve,” Zaara sighs, not wanting to argue with him. Rogue would have accompanied her, but she’ll have her to remain with Bucky since the former Winter Soldier still can’t be left alone. There’s no way he should be anywhere near Tony Stark since Bucky’s healing is yet another thing Zaara’s been forced to place on the backburner. Moreover, it makes her nervous to bring Steve with her since it could end up feeling like a date. _But it won’t be a date if Tony Stark shows up_ , she notes ruefully. _Besides, I’m buying a house. I’ve got bigger fish to fry._

All too soon, morning arrives and Zaara sets off in the Mercedes with Steve in the driver’s seat. For the most part, they remain silent and alone with their thoughts. Zaara calculates her mortgage payments in her mind to distract herself from being close to him while Steve ponders how on earth he's managed to get used to the new Brooklyn because there is so little left of the old Brooklyn he once knew. It seems to hurt less each time he visits. Doing his best not to think too much about his last trip to Brooklyn, his date with Sharon and the portrait he is not allowed to see, he glances over at Zaara who seems lost in her thoughts. It is still quite a thrill to be alone with her.

To his surprise, Zaara’s potential house is located in an historic neighborhood Steve’s never seen before, though it’s not really far from his old stomping grounds. It is, however, significantly more posh. Each home is a beautiful brownstone and there are virtually no walk-ups. A strange, warm feeling overcomes him as they climb out of the car and stand on the sidewalk next to the front stoop.

“You know, I used to come to Brooklyn every week. I’d take a dance class at the school and then I’d go for a walk and look at houses,” Zaara muses just before they climb the steps. She strokes the elaborate wrought iron bannister fondly. “Somehow, I always ended up on this street. When I saw the sale sign go up on this place, I had to knock on the door. Turns out a young woman owns it, though she never lived here. It belonged to her great aunt who passed away and she’s selling it so she can move to Seattle. She let me in to see it once and I just fell in love.”

“It’s lovely,” he says simply, gazing up at the partial turret with its old-fashioned bay window. As always, he covets his time alone with Zaara, but something piques a corner of his mind and he cannot stop himself from blurting out a question. “Who was the owner?”

“Some lady named Rollingwood,” she replies absently, as if it is of no consequence.

 _Rollingwood?_ A chill clamps down on his heart and the sensation is not unlike one of his black-outs.

“Steve? Are you alright?” Zaara asks, immediately sensing something is amiss. It frightens her to see him this shaken so soon after his recovery.

Panting, he grasps her arm and squeezes it tight. “I’m fine. Wait one second . . .” He closes his eyes and concentrates. Ever since the serum, he’s possessed an uncanny ability to recall the most minute details. “I think I know what it is: that drawing I bought. The paperwork said the owner’s name was Rollingwood.”

“Far out,” she muses, relieved he can make the connection without blacking out again. “Sorry to remind you of all that. I’m sure it’s not the same person,” she adds softly.

“Probably not,” Steve wipes fresh beads of sweat off his brow and vows to check the paperwork and soon. _Don’t know why it matters so much; it just does_.

“It’s funny—her niece tried to sell the house a few years back when her aunt passed away, but it turns out the will wasn’t complete. It took years to transfer the title and clear away all the liens so she could sell it. What a mess—but you’ll see. It’s worth the wait,” Zaara says eagerly, though she is still rather anxious for him. _Too bad this had to remind him of that damn drawing._ She doesn’t bother to mention that all the other houses she’d visited seemed lackluster in comparison. Somehow, this place felt special. It had heart. She felt inexplicably drawn to it and, once she’d seen it, she could never forget it. Apart from the X-mansion, it’s the only place she can imagine calling home.

“I’m sure it is,” Steve smiles as he crosses the threshold. A thrill pounds in his heart that he can’t explain. “You know, I grew up around here. Only a couple subway stops away,” he adds earnestly. _Could that be it? Why do I feel like I’m home?_

“Did you?” she smiles back. “So you can vouch for the neighbourhood, then?”

“Well, it’s been seventy years,” he muses. “Wish I could.” He takes a look around. The fixtures seem a bit dusty and neglected but otherwise in good shape. The old fashioned carvings, the crown molding, and the antique banister make him feel like he’s back in the ‘40s. “You know, these were brand new in my day,” he chuckles. But his feelings seem so odd that some part of him almost views the house with suspicion. His protective instincts for Zaara flared up as soon as he heard about the inspection and indeed, he loathes to contemplate her spending time away from the school—and from him. Still, if there were any other place for her to live outside of the school, it should be here. _Got a good feeling about this place, though it don’t make no sense. I gotta check that name on the portrait again. Rollingwood—some coincidence._

“I’ve been saving up for a few years,” Zaara says modestly, remembering the way Steve complained that he couldn’t afford Brooklyn. “And it’s a real fixer-upper, actually. You’ll see.” And indeed, he does. At the very least, the entire place requires a good paint job. The kitchen definitely needs to be renovated, there’s no air conditioning, and the back porch is in dire need of repair. But otherwise, the inspector tells her the property has good bones. Steve isn’t too sure about the windows, but the inspector feels otherwise given that the property is an historic one and no one makes wrought iron windows anymore.

By the time the inspection is nearly over, a sleek and gaudy sports car skids up to the curve. _Stark_. Zaara meets Steve’s eyes and they grin at each other helplessly. When Tony comes to the door, she receives him with a warm embrace. “Mr. Stark. I mean, Tony. I’m so glad I could help. I'd be happy to check on Rhodie again, if you like. Anytime.”

“Maybe,” he replies, and politely steps back. It’s not exactly a rejection of her embrace; it is only his normal set of defenses kicking into gear. Zaara’s affection disarms him and he needs to create some distance—especially given the present company. He clears his throat. “Cap.”

“Tony,” Steve nods, his voice fraught with sincerity. “It’s good to see you again.”

Tony nods in return, but quickly turns his attention elsewhere, unready to face their past. “So, what have we got?”

“The place is almost a hundred years old,” Zaara explains. “Feel free to wander around. Tell me about anything you see, any potential issues. The inspector is downstairs. He says it has good bones, so I’m hoping this is the one. I’ve been searching for a long time now.”

“Hmph,” Tony snorts, moving through the house like he owns the place. He stomps up and down the steps, knocks on walls, sticks his nose up the chimney, flushes all the toilets, and gives the inspector quite the shock when he runs into him in the basement. Zaara and Steve remain in the living room.

“Zaara . . .” Steve begins tentatively, unsure what he’s going to say for this house gives him mixed emotions. On the one hand, he absolutely loves it. It feels good to him, it feels right, and he of all people can understand the longing for a place to call home. But he also worries about the children being away from the mansion, so far from all the protection it affords them—even if this is Brooklyn. But it’s in his nature to be generous. “This house is beautiful. I hope you get it.”

“Thanks,” she smiles, sensing his reluctance. But he also cannot quell the light in his eyes. There’s really something about this place. He’s elated to see her standing there up on the stairs at eye level with him, and indeed, Zaara has a sudden and inexplicable urge to kiss him right there on the spot. It feels so natural and safe to her, this place, and it all but makes her forget the restrictions she’s placed on her life. He gazes back at her with curious eyes and she finally has to look away. Beguiled by the thought of having this charming old home empty of everyone and everything but the two of them, he waits patiently, unable to tear his eyes away from her. Zaara experiences the same feeling even while she longs to bring the children here, and Bucky as well. _Curious_. Somehow, she can no longer imagine a home without having both men in it. It truly feels as if they belong with her—like family. This sale has been pending since she left for Wakanda and has only now reached the home inspection stage. It’s a thrilling development, though she hasn’t really had anyone else to share it with—until today.

Steve beams at her. “I wish Bucky could see it.”

“He will,” she nods determinedly, meeting his eyes again. It’s easier when she’s thinking of someone else. Steve has a way of stripping away her defenses. “I think Stark is gonna tell me to go for it.”

“Do you?” he asks, amused. _Never thought of putting Tony’s skills to use like this_.

She shrugs. “Telepathy has its advantages. He seems to be of the same mind as the inspector.”

Soon, Steve finds out for himself. Pleased that Zaara cares enough to preserve the unique historic details of the house, the inspector takes his leave and generously allows the three of them to remain on the premises a while longer since they promise to lock up. The place is empty, there is nothing to steal, and he understands their excitement.

“Thank you for doing this, Tony,” Zaara sighs gratefully as the inspector drives away.

“Couldn’t you just read the inspector’s mind? That ought to have told you everything you needed to know,” Tony quips, reluctant to bask in her gratitude.

“It’s always good to get a second opinion,” she counters. “Besides . . .”

But she clasps her hands to her ears and her jaw drops in horror. A violent quake makes the floor tremble and it is soon followed by an earth-shattering roar. Zaara falls to her knees and Steve and Tony reach to catch her at the same time. The shaking does not cease and a tremendous force yanks both of them down to the floor.

 _“What. Is. It?”_ Steve winces, and he’s the only one of them who can manage to stand up again. It takes nearly all of his strength.

Tony gasps for air, clinging desperately to Zaara as if he believes his very touch can protect her from whatever is doing this. “Hold on!” she shouts and squeezes her eyes shut. Gradually, the pressure lessens enough so that the two of them rise to their feet. Trying to catch her breath, Zaara clings to Steve’s arm while Tony struggles to stay standing. “Something’s wrong.”

“Really?” Tony asks sarcastically.

“Call it,” Zaara pants breathlessly, staring hard at him. “You can get it now. Hurry.”

Without any further hesitation, Tony summons his Iron Man suit.

Zaara closes her eyes and focuses inward. It is no easy task, given that she is shielding the three of them from some immense force that wants nothing more than to cram their bodies down into the earth. She squeezes her eyes tight and does not open them until she has the answer. “It’s . . . Gravitron,” she says in disbelief just as the metal components of the Iron Man suit fly onto the porch and assemble themselves upon Tony’s body.

“Gravitron? What’s Gravitron?” Steve demands.

“A man . . . he controls gravity,” Zaara winces.

Tony cannot help but smirk even though he knows it’s anything but a joke. Someone with this kind of power rarely is. “And who else? His sidekick UV Rayon?”

“He’s . . . manipulating gravity,” she shudders as the force, as if sensing her pocket of resistance, re-ups itself. “He was a scientist . . . Name of Franklin Hall . . . Got his powers by accident . . . Shield imprisoned him . . . He escaped.” She pants, still unable to catch her breath. The pressure is enormous and it is squeezing her brain. She’s not sure how she got this information but she knows he hovers high above them, looking down on New York with sheer, unadulterated rage. _Did I read his mind from so far away? I couldn’t—not without Cerebro. What’s happening?_

“Is he a mutant?” Steve asks in an urgent voice. “We need to know what the hell is going on.”

“A mutate,” Zaara corrects him, though it really doesn’t matter. The earth is wobbling and the pressure is squeezing their bodies into the ground. The sky seems crooked and the buildings sway. People scream in the distance. Zaara heaves with great effort before she issues instructions. “Steve, get my phone. Call Storm. Tony, get the Avengers. He . . . he’s trying to rip New York City in half.”

“Again? I hate when that happens,” Tony mutters and tears off the porch with the assistance of Zaara’s counterforce. But when he flies out of range, Friday warns him it’ll take all his power to maintain elevation.

“Keep going!” Zaara shouts after him. _God knows we need all the help we can get._

“What does Gravitron want?” Steve cries out, cradling her body into his since she’s collapsing again. _Too much power, too much force—there’s gotta be a reason._

“I dunno,” she heaves, her body giving way despite her class five powers. “Anger . . . Rage . . . That’s all I get.”

Steve yanks Zaara’s phone off the table though the device does not come willingly. Luckily, his strength is such that he can force his body to do his bidding despite the mounting pressure. No doubt he has Zaara to thank for it. He takes a good look and, though he’s been given a device similar to hers and has an inkling how to use it, he still doesn’t have a direct line to the X-men. _That needs to change—yesterday._

“Hit the emergency icon!” Zaara screeches, and he does it.

“Does anyone read?” Steve shouts and soon, Storm is on her way, Wanda flying by her side. The rest of the X-men board the Blackbird but can’t get close due to the intensity of Gravitron’s force. It looks as if the city is starting to sink into a hole. Everyone is grounded. The mutated scientist keeps all aircraft far out of his vicinity while he hovers on high. Only Wanda’s energy fields and Storm’s manipulation of the winds keeps the two aloft. They fight to maintain elevation and, though they assist each other, they are unable to help anyone else. Soon enough, Vision joins them in the air while Tony remains grounded. He’s managed to make it as far the Brooklyn Bridge. It is crumbling and he immediately calls for an evacuation with Rhodie’s assistance, for he has donned the War Machine suit which he can operate thanks to Zaara’s healing regimen. But they can do precious little. It takes all the energy of the arc reactor to keep them going. Suddenly, a voice comes through over the comms.

“ _Captain—are you there? I’ve managed to infiltrate the X-men’s communications system,"_   Vision’s words ring forth. “ _It seems we must cooperate. Ms. Maximoff has arrived with another mutant.”_

“That’s Storm. She can control the weather. I got Zaara down here, trying to counteract the pull. We have Tony, too. But he can’t reach you. What’s the story upstairs?” Steve asks.

 _“Wanda and her friend are trying to keep Gravitron in a hold, though they are not succeeding. I understand Ms. Xaviar has unlimited energy. Can she counteract the force?”_ Vision’s voice answers back.

“What do you think I’ve been doing?” Zaara groans, falling to her knees again. Steve catches her.

“ _Keep it up, Ms. Xaviar,”_ Vision encourages her. _“Wanda is attempting mental manipulation, but she’s having difficulty getting in range. It’s taking all her power to maintain elevation.”_

“How close are you?” Steve asks. “Can you do anything? What about Storm?”

 _“I am attempting to assist but I can only avoid the gravitational pull as long as I am in phase and therefore cannot apprehend Gravitron,”_ Vision explains, sounding more patient than he ought to. _“Otherwise, I am too far out of range to blast him with the gem. Wanda and Storm are still out of range. He’s keeping them busy fighting the pull_.”

“Hang on!” Zaara calls as Steve helps her up. “Just keep me on my feet,” she instructs him breathlessly.

“I got you,” he replies in that steady Captain America voice of his. They’re standing outside now and his sharp eyes spot the figure of a bearded man high in the sky. He seems tiny, barely a speck, and Steve realizes Zaara can’t possibly psi-blast him, not from such a distance and with the way she seems to be directing her energy down into the earth. _She’s probably keeping it from cracking in two._ And he knows she combats a deadly force that is trying to bring him to his knees while it rocks the earth under his feet. Far away from the bearded man whose eyes flash like stars, Steve’s supersoldier vision detects the figures of Wanda and Storm. They are aloft and appear to be struggling against the same dire force that plagues him and the rest of New York. Just as Vision said, the two of them are too far away for Wanda to work her mental magic or her telekinesis. Storm seems to be floundering and the gale force winds she employs to remain aloft whip Wanda’s long hair into a frenzy. Indeed, Storm’s energy has gotten so strong it’s pulling several trees in the neighbourhood up from their roots. Cars are rolling over and it makes Steve fear for civilians. He wonders whether Storm could turn the liquid inside the man’s body into ice but figures that, again, it must be a matter of distance and precision.

“Storm?!” Zaara shrieks into the comms as if she is reading his mind.

“ _I can’t,”_ Storm wails back. “ _It’s too far. Can’t freeze him from here—I’d have to turn the whole city into an iceberg.”_

“ _Uh, we call that January in New York,”_ Tony voice rings out, having gotten Friday to hack into the X-men’s comms.

“ _Can’t target him with my lightening—he’s too small. I’d be firing blind all over the city. Zaara, what about you?”_ Storm cries out in desperation.

“ _She’s busy keeping New York in one piece,”_ Zaara hears Tony’s voice again. _“Come on, people. Think. We have to do something. I’m grounded. Casualties on the Brooklyn Bridge! Viz? We need you here!”_

“Zaara . . . Zaara, you’re bleeding,” Steve says quietly, his lips brushing against her ear. He’s holding her up from behind now, cradling her body into his own, her back resting against his torso. He’s uncertain whether it matters, but he’s decided to keep her on her feet. _Keep her awake_ , something tells him. _No matter what_.

A drop of blood splats down onto her shoulder and she feels a tickling sensation in her ear. Could it be a concussion? Steve wonders numbly though there’s nothing he can do about it. “Zaara,” his voice sounds urgent and he repeats his warning. “You’re bleeding.”

“Thought so,” she whispers.

A long while ago, Steve once heard her mention that she could copy or imitate other mutants’ powers. Thinking of what happened when Bucky kissed Rogue, Steve wonders if Zaara could do the same—draw someone’s power and strength into her own body. As a supersoldier, he has plenty of strength to spare. Even though his heart is full of doubt, Steve uses his most confident voice. “Zaara, you need help. You should . . . absorb my energy. Like Rogue.”

As if she can read his mind, Zaara inhales stubbornly. “Steve. No.”

He waits a few moments and listens to her breathing. It sounds labored. She’s not doing well. “Zaara. You have to.”

“No. No I don’t,” she refuses, a tear sliding down her face. But he senses her resolve weakening.

Taking the chance, he whirls her body around until she’s facing him, grasps her shoulders in his powerful hands, and gives her a good shake. “Do it, Zaara. NOW.” He presses his face to hers so hard it frightens her. Crying, she tries to say no, but he only clamps down on her harder and won’t let her move. Gravitron’s force is tearing her apart and she fights it, but her weak and fragile human body is not enough and soon she will have to go outside of herself, outside of her body, to find the strength to defeat him.

_Unless . . ._

Drawing back, she gazes into his eyes, so full of fear. And love. “Steve,” she whispers in his ear and kisses him, a ghost of a kiss like the one she gave him before.

He passes out and falls to the floor.

Suddenly, she feels stronger than she ever has in her life. _My God,_ she wonders. _Did I kill him_? Gravitron’s force yanks at her again and it is as if someone has wrenched her heart right out of her body. Up in the heavens, a bearded man floats in the air, his eyes shining like shards of violent stars ready to stab her.

She blasts him into oblivion.

The city halts its collapse and the tremors dissipate. The earth becomes stable once again.

In a shot, Iron Man achieves lift off and catches the body in mid-air as it plunges down to the earth. “Gravitron’s out! He’s alive, but he’s out!” Tony shouts triumphantly. It is a revelation to be able to fly again and he alters course to return to the Brooklyn Bridge to assist with the rescue efforts. As he begins his descent, he opens his mask and takes a good look at the unconscious body he carries in his arms. Taking a deep breath, he stifles his vomit reflex. “Phew! This guy stinks. Don’t they have soap in Shield lock-up?”

 _“Sir,”_ Vision pipes up over the coms. _“He’s been kept unconscious for the last ten years. They considered him too dangerous to wake.”_

“You should say too dangerous to bathe,” Tony winces as the long, greasy locks smudge his shiny new suit. “Gravitron? More like Garbage-tron. Smells like he’s been living in a trash can for ten years. Who was the warden? Oscar the Grouch?”

“Tony, Tony,” Rhodie calls as he flies over and takes stock. “Is that dandruff on your suit?”

“Aw, man,” Tony groans and hands Gravitron’s body over to police custody while emergency crews scramble to assist the first responders on the bridge. Wanda has joined them and uses her forcefields to hold the bridge steady and begin repairs. When things finally seem under control, Tony returns to what may one day be Zaara’s front stoop. He pauses and takes stock of what lies in front of him.

 _“Hey, everyone,”_ he calls out over the coms. _“Zaara and Steve are spooning.”_ But he soon realizes something is wrong. Very wrong.

Both are unconscious.

And neither are breathing.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Two days later they lie side by side on matching cots deep down in the X-men medical unit. Bucky paces back and forth relentlessly, his eyes never leaving their unconscious bodies. With hands clasped together, Steve grips Zaara so tightly in his sleep it makes them fear to try to break his hold on her. From his perch in the corner, Sam gazes over them with worried eyes. Even though Bucky is a master at concealing emotion, he nods grimly to acknowledge the Falcon. Rogue stands by him, her heart breaking.

Until they wake up, this is what life is like for all of them.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

_The beach is calm. And beautiful. White sand stretches for miles beneath a deep blue sky, waves lap gently upon the shore, and birds soar silently off in the distance. The sun cannot be seen and there is no way to tell whether the lamp of heaven has risen, or if it has already set. A sense of ineluctable foreboding hangs in the clear and rugged air, belied by the lightness of the wind._

_Steve sits perfectly still and glances down at the sand. It feels smooth and cool beneath him. He didn’t notice before but now that he’s wiggling his toes, the fine grains tickle his skin and he sees that he’s wearing white pants. The fabric is softer than anything he’s ever worn before and so light it is nearly translucent. If he were himself, he’d be embarrassed to be seen in them. But he’s not himself. Breathing in the sea air, he finds it curious that this place lacks the fishy scent of the beach at Montauk although it is, undoubtedly, the sea. Suddenly, he notices the waves are moving in the wrong direction._

_It’s not the sea._

_It’s a river._

_When he rises, his shirt flutters open and his bare chest, caressed by the wind, rouses him. He realizes that his shirt is also white and of a fabric even lighter than his pants. Perhaps it is silk. It billows open, completely unbuttoned, but he doesn’t mind. It’s curious to be wearing white from head to toe, he’s never dressed this way before, but he ignores it and looks back at the water. It waves are hypnotic, but something moves out the corner of his eye; something white flutters on the sand a little further up the beach. Squinting, he sees that it is a woman in a white dress. A closer look reveals that it’s Zaara but the water, which is also a river, calls to him. Endless undulations and he cannot look away. Not anymore._

_As if she can sense him, Zaara wakes and stretches her arms out over the sand. She feels the soft, silken gown that covers her body and luxuriates in it until something issues a sharp warning in her heart. Rousing herself, she finds it difficult to move. The velvety sand and the sound of the rushing water lull her into a state of blissful indifference until she catches sight of Steve some way off. He looks so handsome dressed all in white with a crisp, beachy look she’s not seen on him before. He is so beautiful and she wonders why she hasn’t thought to bring him to the beach before. She sits up straight now and watches him walk towards the water._

_The same warning hits her again. Hard. She leaps to her feet and breaks into a run. “Steve? STEVE! Stop! Don’t touch the water!” In a flash, she’s beside him though he doesn’t seem to notice. Thrusting her body in front of his, she grasps his shoulders. He keeps on moving anyways. He’s so strong. “Steve! You have to stop. Don’t touch the water. Please!”_

_His steps continue inexorably. Only a few feet from the river now, Zaara is scared. Deeply scared. “Rivers in ancient myth—not a good thing, Steve!” she warns, realizing this is not the world they live in. This is not even the astral plane—not with the strength Steve wields. She has no control here; she ought to be stronger than him now if that were the case, but he’s still supersoldier strong and she can’t use telekinesis to stop him. Her powers are null in this strange place and she can only dig her feet into the sand._

_Steve still won't stop._

_“Steve!” her voice takes on the quality of a wail. “That river is death. I can sense it. Don’t touch it. We’ll die!”_

_He marches on as if he cannot hear her. She starts tearing at him—his skin, his clothes, anything she can reach. She scratches at his chest while his shirt flies open in a frantic bid for his attention. When she grasps his face, she discovers she can read his mind. “Oh, Steve—it’s your Ma? You see your Ma? Is that why you won’t stop?”_

_Ma’s on the other side. She’s calling me, he tells her without words._

_“NO. No she’s not. Don’t believe it, Steve. She’d never call you to die,” Zaara cries out loud, unwilling to be drawn into his hallucination. He’s hypnotized, having some kind of vision, and she won’t buy into it._

_“I’m going to her,” he says in that stubborn voice of his. She knows that tone all too well and grips his face tighter in her hands._

_“Then we’ll both die. Ellie and Henry will be orphans. And it’ll be your fault.” She cannot conceal the bitterness in her voice._

_That_ _gives him pause. “You’re wrong.”_

_“I’m right. You’ve got to listen to me. Please,” she begs. “I won’t give up on you.”_

_Reluctantly, s_ _ome small part of him returns to consciousness. But he is not released. Not yet. “I have to go. You stay here.” He picks her up and moves her out of his way as if she is nothing more than a child and resumes his relentless march to the water._

_“STEVE!” She leaps at him, for all is not lost—not if he has even the tiniest shred of consciousness to spare. Flinging herself upon his body, she tries everything to tear him out of this madness. Her mouth issues forth shrieks, cries, warnings, and threats until finally, they reach the end. They are so close to the water now she succumbs to despair and without thinking, gives him a good right hook on the jaw. It doesn’t topple him but it does make him shake his head in confusion. Zaara rejoices. “You felt that, didn’t you? Steve? SNAP THE HELL OUT OF IT.”_

_The confused expression on his face does nothing to reassure her. He still hasn’t stepped back from the water and she is terrified, her mind swimming in anguish, and she will say anything, do anything, to stop him. She jumps on him, wraps her body tight around him. “STOP THIS STEVE ROGERS OR I SWEAR I WILL RIP OFF THIS DRESS AND BEAT YOU WITH IT. RIGHT. NOW!”_

_The grim tease works. He regards her as if for the first time. He realizes there is a woman straddling him and that it’s Zaara. Zaara, in a white dress, her hair blown all over her face, tears in her eyes, and clawing at his skin like a madwoman. She might’ve even punched him in the face. His eyes drop down to her white slip of a dress and take in the way her breasts quiver and flutter freely beneath it. He imagines it falling away since it is stunningly apparent she wears nothing at all on underneath it. Her body holds him tightly in a death grip and desire suddenly floods him._

_Zaara has never been so grateful for it. “Oh, Steve. Thank God,” she whispers, stroking his face with her hands gently now, her tears wetting his skin._

_“Zaara?” he asks, confused. Guilt overwhelms him as his thoughts abruptly return to the children, to what he almost did to them. Guilt, and a fierce stab of desire. It is a strange brew._

_“It’s the river,” she explains, breathlessly. “It makes you forget your whole life. And if you cross it . . .”_

_“You die?” he asks, even though death is the last thing on his mind right now since he is free to grasp her hips, feel her body all over his. Yes, death is the definitely the last thing on his mind at this moment._

_“Steve,” she sobs into his chest, tears wetting the bare skin there, soft and silky over his hard muscles. H_ _is body bears her mark; countless red scratches from her fingernails._

_“Don’t cry, darling,” he murmurs, cupping her face in his hand. “Can I kiss you?” He sounds more like his old self again and Zaara won’t refuse him._

_“Yes. Kiss me. Please,” she begs through her tears and she receives his kiss, allows his hands to trace the naked skin on her shoulders, even daring to slide down her arms and caress the sides of her breasts. Wrapping her firmly in his embrace, he brazenly scoops her up and carries her away from the water. His kiss deepens and she accepts it, submits to it, but something rips her mind away._

_Jean._

_Jean Grey._

_“Steve." She pulls her mouth from his kiss and she quivers. Too fearful to feel the same arousal that consumes him, her blood chills. “Something’s wrong.”_

_“What is it?” he asks reluctantly, preoccupied by the taste of her on his tongue. It’s a terrible distraction in this unknown place and he suddenly experiences her fear. Feelings tend to move both directions in this no man’s land. Everything changed as soon as he was released from the bizarre trance that dragged him towards the river._

_Zaara stretches her legs and Steve releases her from his hold with great reluctance. If she is right, they could be in deep trouble. His thoughts dart back to Bucky and the children. Ellie. Henry. With a streak of horror, he wonders if he will ever see them again. He steels himself and takes Zaara’s hand. “I’m with you, doll. I’m not letting go.”_

_They walk side by side now, towards the figure further up the beach. There is no use avoiding it. There can be no running away. Zaara thanks her stars that Jean stands far from the water. Holding her tight, Steve keeps constant body contact between them. Zaara shows no resistance. “Jean!” she calls to her when they come close, her voice ringing with hope. But she senses something else and quickly changes her mind. “You’re not Jean. Are you?”_

_“No.” The figure smiles strangely, and appears identical to Jean Gray. "I am not Jean."_

_Zaara swallows, sensing that this figure, this entity, definitely knows Jean Grey, knows something of her. Fresh tears well up inside of her. “Then . . . tell her I miss her. Tell her  we all miss her.”_

_“You would not release him.” The entity observes her calmly and casts a neutral glance in Steve’s direction._

_Zaara pauses, curious. “Never,” she asserts, sensing that a firm answer must be given. Indeed, now that she's brought Steve back from the brink, she’s prepared to tear this woman apart if need be. She clutches Steve’s hand even tighter. Whoever or whatever this person is, she is not Jean Grey._

_“You have neglected your duty,” the figure continues, and though the words admonish her, the voice sounds remarkably indifferent, as if it is unused to speech._

_Zaara trembles and Steve feels her fear. “Um . . . okay. Sorry about that.” She has no idea what the hell they are talking about, but Steve moves behind her and wraps his arms around her, as if he can shield her from whatever they are facing here and now._

_“You chose to keep him,” the strange woman observes. “Do you . . . want him?”_

_Zaara rests her hands upon Steve’s forearms which crisscross over her breasts protectively. Sensing that her answer must be nothing less than emphatic, she inhales and makes her desperate proclamation. “Yes. Very much.”_

_The entity that resembles Jean Grey stares harder at her and it makes her skin crawl._

_“I . . . I love him.”_

_Zaara reels, stunned by her own admission._

_Passion floods Steve’s body. Gripping Zaara tighter, a palpable sense of relief rushes through his veins while his heart rejoices at her words. Slowing his breaths, he forces himself to speak though is damned difficult. “Are you the Phoenix?” he asks boldly, rocking Zaara back and forth while she trembles and almost loses balance. He won’t let her fall. He knows now that she has saved him, though he doesn’t understand what the hell they are facing now. And he almost doesn’t care—because she loves him._

_The strange woman meets his gaze and gives him a dark hint of a smile before directing her eyes back to Zaara. “He will not be the only one. Tarry no longer.”_

_Zaara and Steve stare in shocked silence._

_“Tend your garden." The figure smiles enigmatically._

_“My . . . garden?” Zaara asks in confusion and with no small sense of relief. Baffled, she glances up at Steve, knowing for certain now that he is out of danger. He gazes down at her with loving eyes. But in the next moment, those eyes begin to flicker._

_“Zaara?” he gasps as his hands, his face, and his body slowly transform into vapor._

_“Steve!” she cries and, as if by sheer force of will, she manages to hold him in place._

_“Release him," the entity commands. “Let him go. Now.”_

_“NO!” Steve shouts and Zaara can hardly see his face. It’s all but vanished. “Zaara don’t!”_

_But she knows she must._

_Steve fades away._

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

He wakes with the face of Jean Grey in his mind’s eye while Zaara’s words echo in his heart.

 _I love him_.

A few moments pass until he realizes where he is. Tearing the nodes off his chest and the IV out of his arm, he gets up out of bed. Then he catches sight of Zaara’s body resting on the cot next to his. An anxious Bucky stands guard over them both. “Hey, punk,” he puts his flesh hand on Steve’s shoulder, not even trying to stop him. He knows better. He comforts his best friend without words while the monitor beeps frantically. “You alright?”

“What’s wrong?” Steve demands. “What the hell happened?" Zaara sleeps peacefully. One of her hands dangles off the table, black and blue bruises giving it rather grotesque appearance.

“She’s stable,” Bucky says quickly, grabbing the dangling hand and placing it carefully upon the cot while Rogue fetches ice to soothe it. “We couldn’t tear your hand offa hers. Not even Wanda could manage it. The triplets have been trying to read her mind, but they’re not very good at it. Even Sam tried. I thought you were the one knocking at death’s door for a while there, pal. Your heart rate got real slow. You alright now?”

“Yeah,” Steve’s voice sounds stone cold. “When will she wake up?”

“We don’t know,” he replies sadly.

“It could take days. Maybe even weeks,” Rogue informs him gently.

“Weeks?” Steve repeats, incredulous.

“Well, maybe not that long,” she admits. “They’ll give her a feeding tube soon.”

“They’re just trying to prepare us, and the kids,” Bucky explains. “We might have lots of waiting to do.”

“What happened?” Steve asks, confused.

“She stopped Gravitron, saved the city,” Bucky explains softly. “When she broke his hold, Wanda and Storm blasted the hell out of him.”

Rogue chimes in. “We’re not sure who did it first—seems he got psi-blasted and electrocuted at the same time.”

Bucky clears his throat proudly. “I had the nerve to tell them they need precision training. They shoulda taken him out a lot sooner. Ain’t never got so many dirty looks in my life,” he cackles darkly while Rogue frowns at him.

“You’re right,” Steve agrees. With great reverence, he leans down and plants the gentlest kiss on Zaara’s sleeping lips. Her words return to him again.

_I love him._

Bucky burns as his best friend makes his vow. “Buck, I’m gonna find out more about their training. Whip them into shape. We should have done better. Zaara was on her own. I won’t let that happen again.”

 

 

 


	18. Let Me Call You Sweetheart

_Let me call you sweetheart_  
_I’m in love with you_  
_Let me hear you whisper that you love me, too._  
_Keep the lovelight glowing in your eyes so true,_  
_Let me call you sweetheart_  
_I’m in love with you._

 

Zaara sleeps.

The hours pass slowly by.

Steve watches and waits. Every so often, her words come back to him and echo through the fabric of his soul: _I love him_. Sparks shoot all over his body at their sound, each reverberation like a tiny piece of heaven. He wonders whether he dare believe it real, if she really does love him, and boldly imagines what it would be like to claim her as his own. _Could it ever really happen? Would she be my girl?_ But he knows there's more to it than that. To envision a future with Zaara is to dream of becoming a family—Zaara, Ellie, Henry, and himself. (And Bucky too, of course, since Bucky is the only family he has left.)

When everyone leaves the lab and he finally has her all to himself, he takes her hand and whispers in her ear. “I love you too, sweetheart. When you wake up . . .” He swallows and tries not to tear up because he needs her to wake up, cannot tolerate the thought of her remaining Sleeping Beauty forever, “I’ll take care of you. And the kids. I’ll make you happy, I swear.” He sighs, strokes her arm, and furtively buries his fingers in her hair. Losing himself in her scent, he takes full advantage of being alone with her and sinks his face into those long, wavy tendrils, their silken texture caressing his cheek and reminding him she’s alive and will come back to him. Nothing soothes him like her scent. It captured him the first time he encountered it in Wakanda and now is no exception. Like some sort of exotic perfume, it infuses his body and brings him home—along with those words. Her words.

_I love him._

Not so long ago, he was the one asleep. Weeks before that, it had been Bucky, frozen in ice. _Seems like we’re all taking turns lying around unconscious. Can’t wait for it all to be over_. All he wants is to tell her that he loves her and he longs quite desperately to say the words the minute she wakes up. _Why the hell didn’t I say it while we were together in that dream?_ For once, courage had failed him. _That beach, that strange place, what the hell was going on there? Was I really going to die? What if she said she loved me only to protect me from that woman who looked like Jean Grey?_ He comes to despise himself for leaving Zaara behind on that beach though he had no say in the matter.

He starts to wonder whether it might frighten her if he takes the plunge and tells her that he loves her. _What if it’s too much too soon? Hell, I haven’t even been able to get her to go on a date with me. What if it was all a dream? What if she never said those words at all?_ But he shakes it off, reminds himself of how real it all felt. _I could hear the water rushing, feel the sand between my toes—I could smell her, touch her. Even her tears. It had to be real. And I love her. So much. She’s gotta know. I gotta tell her._

Hank comes by to check on Zaara and announces she’s doing just fine. A strong, steady heartbeat, brain activity within normal parameters—she could wake at any moment. If not, then maybe in a week or two, or perhaps longer. There’s no telling. All the X-men, even the children, are used to Zaara’s long rests.

Steve, decidedly, is not.

Neither is Bucky. In some sense, he takes it even harder. Though he doesn’t want to leave her side, he’s still tethered to Rogue and she has duties and responsibilities to attend to and cannot spend the entire day sitting around in a lab. Nevertheless, they return to Zaara often during the daylight hours, forming a threesome with Steve who keeps constant vigil. Often, Sam joins them as well. The man called the Falcon hates to see his friend in such a state. _You got it bad, buddy. Can't fool me. No way you can hide it anymore._ Still, this is a school and there are classes to be taught, jobs to be done, and children to mind. Eventually, Steve realizes he can’t abandon it all to Bucky and even he must leave Zaara’s side. But they make careful arrangements so she is never left alone.

Once Steve had risen from his own unconscious state, Zaara’s condition stabilized rapidly. As a matter of fact, Bucky informed him that he had been the one in serious danger, not her. The irony of that was not lost upon him and, since Hank said she was doing well, it occurred to him that he ought to try and do some good for her while she was down for the count. Pitching in to look after the children along with Bucky, Rogue, Storm, and the boys, he’d drive Ellie to her new summer camp in the mornings and pick up Henry in the afternoons. Thankfully, the children were not nearly as worried about their mother as he was, though they obviously missed her. Accustomed to her short-term absences on missions and the recovery time that came along with them, they got on with their lives, confident she would return to them soon.

Ellie, however, sensed his fear and would go out of her way to comfort both men. She was so good at making them feel better it made Steve wonder if she inherited some of her mother’s telepathic abilities. It seemed so, even though she was still very young. Somehow, her childlike confidence always managed to cheer them up and Steve found himself thinking about how else he could be of help while Zaara was sleeping. He began to visit Theo knowing it was risky to do so without his shield. _The kid’s worth it,_ he told himself and he took to the explosive mutant quite easily. Coaching him in short sessions down by the bunker, he effectively took over where Alex had left off. His plans for training with the X-men, however, he put on hold since he did not dare interfere without Zaara’s blessing. However, he did have the gumption to take Storm aside and quiz her on the X-men’s response to Gravitron. He politely informed her of his plans to assess their training regimen and readiness capabilities to ensure they were on par with Avengers’ standards. Storm gave him a bit of a stink-eye for it but agreed it was something to consider after Zaara woke up. The powerful mutant would not allow Steve to join the X-men in any official capacity as of yet, but realized he could prove to be quite useful as a liaison with the Avengers, especially after the situation with Gravitron.

Days passed and both men pondered how else they might be of help around the school before Zaara woke up. It occurred to Bucky that they ought to address the situation with Deadbeat Dad since it brought her so much grief. Relations between Zaara and Blink had deteriorated precipitously and, knowing his best friend possessed a certain charm, Bucky bided his time and waited for his chance. When Blink finally came to visit Zaara, he seized the opportunity and sent Steve to speak with her. It made quite an impression. The teleporter sighed and soon surrendered, finding it difficult if not impossible to argue with Captain America's blue eyes, bronze skin, and sparkling white teeth. When the vet arrived, Steve even accompanied Blink to the barn and held her hand during the surgery. Squeezing his eyes shut, he fervently hoped a neutered Deadbeat Dad would prove to be a load off Zaara’s mind after she woke up. Bucky certainly thought so.

Indeed, Bucky handled his grief by letting the children serve as a much-needed distraction. They were certainly good at keeping him busy. Still tethered to Rogue, the mutant and the supersoldier had become thick as thieves and acted as primary caregivers for the children. Looking after them without Zaara was particularly demanding, especially when Bucky found himself in the position of helping them through some of the normal struggles of childhood, as when Henry bit one of his friends at school or when Ellie threw a fit of jealousy upon discovering she was the only kid at Daisy camp who did not possess an American Girl Doll. Out of his depth, Bucky gave Henry a stern lecture about biting but it only made the boy cry. And when he discovered that Zaara, for some unfathomable reason, refused to buy Ellie one of those dolls no matter how hard she begged, he got Steve to help him order a doll, expense be damned. In Bucky’s mind, nothing was too good for Ellie and he could not understand why Zaara would ever refuse her anything.

To his dismay, Rogue only sighed, wisely choosing to let him find certain things out for himself. But as fond as he’s grown of Rogue, he hasn’t slept well in a week. Still sweating over the near loss of Steve, he misses Zaara terribly. Indeed, when Steve finally woke, it was as if his heart could start beating again, though he couldn’t confess it. His innermost feelings about Steve remain deeply buried and somewhat unreachable, though having Steve back has given him something he'd thought he had lost: hope.

When Steve leaves the lab, Bucky goes on watch again with Rogue. The young mutant grasps the former Winter Soldier by his new prosthetic hand and he feels every nuance of her touch. Forge, in his genius, created a sensitive and sophisticated interface that surpasses the old Hydra arm. The new appendage is composed of a powerful metal even Hydra never knew existed: adamantium. Bucky’d never heard of it before. Permanent and indestructible, it weighs considerably more than its predecessor but that only makes him feel stronger, at least in body if not in mind. “Bucky,” Rogue whispers, grasping his new metal arm. “I knew you cared about her. But I never knew just how much.”

He snorts to suppress a sob as he stares at Zaara’s pale, sleeping face. “Can’t help it, doll. You know I care about you, too.”

“Not the way you care about her,” Rogue protests, a hint of teasing in her voice. “It’s alright, Bucky. I don’t mind at all. Zaara’s the best.”

“She is,” he agrees, moving closer to Zaara’s cot. Unable to resist touching her, he indulges himself and strokes her hair so tenderly it moves Rogue to tears.

“Gosh, Bucky,” she whispers. “Any girl would be lucky to have someone care about her like that.”

Sighing, he can only shrug. “It don’t make no difference.”

“But it does,” she smiles compassionately. “Hank says it helps her, all this time you spend with her. The words you say, the touches—some part of her knows you’re here for her.”

“I just want her to be alright,” he murmurs, nestling his cheek into Zaara’s shoulder. He, too, finds solace in her scent and allows his lips to linger upon a soft part of her neck, just below her ear. “Don’t tell Steve I’m doing this. He thinks she’s his girl.”

Rogue chuckles darkly. “He’d better watch his step. I don’t think Zaara wants to be anyone’s girl.”

“She’s Steve’s, whether she likes it or not,” Bucky mutters with genuine bitterness.

“Bucky . . .” She doesn’t need to say anything more. Her tone of voice is enough to chastise him.

“Sorry,” he glances at her briefly before returning his gaze to Zaara. Lost in thought, he brushes a few wisps of hair from her forehead. “Kids seem to be handling this better than the two of us.”

“Well,” Rogue puts her hands on her hips and, with a fair amount of diplomacy, chooses her words carefully. “Ellie and Henry are not exactly . . . dependent on her the way you two seem to be. And with good reason,” she quickly adds.

“She’s their mother,” he says stubbornly. “They need her.”

“They sure do,” she agrees. Lowering her voice, she seats herself on a stool. “I know you’d do anything for that family. You treat them like they’re your own.”

He cannot deny it and won’t even try. Two hours pass while they keep a silent vigil. Words are unnecessary, given their tether. But with a rascally smile that seems to come out of nowhere, Bucky suddenly indulges in a chuckle. “You know her nickname for Steve?”

“Captain Bossypants,” Rogue giggles back. “Does it suit?”

“Sure does, and I’ve known him longer than anyone,” Bucky smirks. “Maybe I should get him to lay off her, though? He’s been after her a while now and I haven’t exactly discouraged him.”

“Lay off her?” Steve bounds through the doorway like a golden retriever. Having spent most of the afternoon working with Theo, it’s a relief to return to the lab in one piece--and to lay eyes on Zaara again.

“You . . . chasin’ after Zaara. Punk,” Bucky teases in that defensive way of his.

“You gave me free reign,” Steve pushes back, remembering their many talks. Though he’s always hated Bucky deeming himself unworthy after everything that happened with Hydra, some small and selfish part of him relishes the way his friend urged him to stake his claim on Zaara.

“I did,” Bucky admits in defeat.

Shaking his head, Steve sighs. “It’s up to her. I just want her to get better. To be happy.”

“So do I,” Bucky agrees, and watches him take the seat on Zaara’s opposite side. With a gentle touch, Steve lovingly rubs her arm, carefully avoiding contact with her fractured hand.

“Yankee rascals,” Rogue sighs, but suddenly she perks up and grins, directing her words at her unconscious friend. “Zaara honey, you’d best stay asleep a spell. You’re gonna have your hands full when you wake up with the way these menfolk keep pinin’ over you. They love you like a fat kid loves cake.” She bursts out in girlish giggles.

Steve and Bucky look at each other, sheepish.

Zaara sighs in her asleep.

 

 

~

 

 

To Steve’s dismay, Zaara wakes with a crowd of well-wishers in the room. His quiet reunion denied him, he stands back and allows Storm, Rogue, Kitty, Blink, Jubilee, Wanda, and Dust to welcome her back with great joy. The women are as surprised as Steve and Bucky to see Zaara wake and give her gentle hugs and kisses. It is a huge hassle to remove her feeding tube. She had been down for more than a week, just long enough to drive the men crazy with worry even though it was explained to them more than once that this is what happens whenever Zaara overextends herself. It’s only a human body, after all. Usually, she spends her recovery time on the astral plain, but when Steve gave them a detailed description of the strange river and the apparition that resembled Jean Grey, things felt ominous indeed. Wanda couldn’t read their minds at all and Sam even gave it a try with the triplets. They could see nothing. No one had ever heard of such place outside of stories or myth and Storm felt the loss of the Professor most keenly in those moments.

Zaara blinks and smiles once the feeding tube is removed. Though her mind is hazy and eyesight blurry, she catches a glimpse of Steve standing tall behind her girlfriends, an anxious expression on his face. Bucky hovers awkwardly in the corner and it is all she can do not to call to out to him.

 _It’s gonna be alright now,_ Bucky tells himself, though he still worries. Not wanting to overwhelm her, the crowd of mutants gradually disperses, Storm and Rogue exchanging knowing looks. Rogue can’t go far from Bucky due to the tether, but she can at least fetch the children from Bobby and Pete to give them the good news.

Zaara yawns and swallows uncomfortably, the feeding tube only recently removed. “Hey, fellas,” she finally says with half a voice.

“Hey, doll,” Bucky grins, taking her hand. “It’s so good to have you back, you don’t know. We missed you somethin’ awful.”

Not to be left out, Steve slides his palm under her other hand, the one wrapped in the bandage. When he was told he was responsible for its fracture, it made him beyond miserable. “Hi, sweetheart,” he croons tenderly, his fingers fondling her hair. “We sure did miss you.”

“How long have I been out?” she whispers, swallowing before the dryness in her throat causes her to hack.

“Over a week,” Steve replies before he is forced to stifle back a sob. “It’s . . . really good to have you back.”

“Kids driving you crazy yet?” she murmurs in a low voice, eyeing Bucky with a tentative smile.

“You know it, doll,” the former Winter Soldier nods. “But nowhere near as crazy as you. We were worried sick about you. Kids handled it better than us, to tell you the truth.”

“I’ll bet,” she smiles, reading his anguish. _It went on for days. Poor Bucky_. “Wait—was Steve out, too?”

“Only for a couple days,” Steve replies in a stronger voice, trying not to covet the moments when her eyes fall upon him. “I remember that beach. Do you? What the hell happened there?”

“Mmmm . . .” she crinkles her eyelids shut and sighs. “Mmmm . . . The beach. I’m glad that’s over. I don’t know what that was but I’m glad you got out when you did. You scared the hell out of me there.”

“What happened after I left?” he cannot resist asking. “With that woman who looked like Jean Grey? You can tell me later, if you like. I know you just woke up.”

Bucky, who has heard the story of Steve’s strange vision, nods eagerly. “Tell us, doll. It sure sounded weird.”

“That wasn’t Jean Grey. I don’t know who it was, I don’t know if it was real,” she explains wearily. “I just thank God you didn’t go in that river, Steve. I had to stop you. I would’ve done anything.”

“Almost lost you both,” Bucky clarifies. “That wasn’t no fun, watching your heartbeats slow down to a crawl. The monitor sounded some alarm and no one was around but me and Rogue. Didn’t know who I’d have to pound first. Steve can heal, but he was worse off. The doc came running, said he was going into cardiac arrest, but you weren’t doing much better, doll. Almost had to make a terrible choice there.”

“I’m so sorry, Bucky,” Zaara whispers. “Come here.” And she lets go of Steve’s hand to wrap her weary arms around the former Winter Soldier who sinks into her embrace like a stone. “What about Gravitron? Did everything turn out alright?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replies, breathing in her scent with slavish and shameless relief. “Steve and I are gonna have a talk with Storm. We need in.”

“We know the X-men have their own way of doing things,” Steve interjects, not wanting to upset her. “But it shouldn’t have fallen on your shoulders. Not when we have the Avengers.”

“No kidding,” Zaara agrees. “But the two of you keep us so busy, we haven’t been able to make it a priority. That can be fixed. But know this, Captain Bossypants,” she coughs lightly, trying to keep her voice firm and clear. “I am never absorbing you again. So you can forget about that.”

He blushes, stubborn. “You will, if you ever need to. It had to be done.”

She shakes her head a little too strongly and it makes her dizzy. “No. We should have tried something else.”

He frowns. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Hey, you two,” Bucky intervenes, his patience for futile arguments utterly exhausted. “Let’s talk about this later. How about I take you upstairs, sweetheart? It’s time to go home.” And without further ado, he scoops her up in his arms while Steve watches with hot envy. Rogue soon follows with the children who are absolutely thrilled to be reunited with their mother.

After Zaara re-establishes their tether, Bucky doesn’t leave her side for hours. They spend very little time talking for he only needs to be near her to feel better again though he keeps on touching her, as if to make absolutely certain he really has her back. For the most part, Zaara remains bedridden and when Steve lets the children in the room, both men must shield her from the intense physicality of their affection. When Zaara becomes exhausted, the men quietly lead the children away so she can rest. They give them their dinner and their baths, read them stories, rough house a little and rejoice that their mother has returned to the world of the living.

When night comes, Bucky ends up next to Zaara in bed, not quite believing he has her back. Steve is reluctant to join them. He envies the way Bucky can snuggle close to her without succumbing to temptation whenever she murmurs and caresses his face. “Bucky,” she whispers time and again, nuzzling his cheek against hers. “So good to have you back.”

Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he stares at Steve as if to say, _Eat your heart out, punk._

“Oh, stop,” Zaara says louder. “You can be close to me, Bucky, because you’re not trying to date me all the damn time. Even if you are a terrible flirt.”

“Takes one to know one,” he says smoothly, restraining himself from sticking his tongue out at Steve.

“I’m going to bed, you two,” Steve announces crisply, having had enough of them both. Even though he is thrilled to have Zaara back, his heart aches with loneliness and the words he cannot say. “Get some rest. I’m glad you’re back, Zaara. Sweet dreams.” He leaves, a chill in his wake.

“Hey, punk, come back,” Bucky calls plaintively.

Steve pauses at the door, but won’t turn to face them.

“He was being mean, and he’s sorry,” Zaara clarifies. “Steve, please come back.”

He cannot refuse her. As if against his will, he turns and approaches the bed.

“Steve,” she sighs again and smiles widely at him, opening her arms. He lies down by her side and allows her to hold him, her arms wrapping weakly around his neck for she is still terribly tired. Their embrace is not fraught with sexual tension. Instead, it feels simple. Like love. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” she confesses, squeezing him tight though she feels anything but strong at the moment.

His expression softens. “I’m glad you’re back, too,” he murmurs, stroking her hair, unable to stop himself. It’s all he can do not to kiss her. “I remember what you said on that beach.”

Bucky crosses his arms at the scene before him, the two of them touching like lovers. “You need to talk. I’ll come back.” He frowns and leaves the room to curl up beside Ellie. The soft, regular breaths of the sleeping girl comfort him while he waits patiently for Zaara to summon him back.

“Finally,” Steve sighs. “I have you all to myself.”

“Oh?” Zaara asks, for she has not had nearly enough time to process everything that happened. Not the home inspection, or Gravitron, or the weird river of death with its vision of Jean Grey. “Do you, Captain Bossypants?”

“Yeah,” he smiles and tucks a wisp of hair behind her ear, trying not to tremble at having her so close. “A lot has happened. But I want to talk about what happened between us.”

“Between us?” she repeats, uncomprehending.

“The river,” his voice is dead serious. “You saved me.”

“I know,” she agrees quietly, suddenly aware that her arms are still around his neck, her breasts pressing softly into his chest. Though she must admit she’s loving the closeness between them, it also feels intensely vulnerable and she wonders whether she ought to let go.

“Why?” he asks, his heart wrenching.

“Because I care about you,” she replies lightly, too tired to think deeply about it. _Like a friend,_ she tells herself. Finally, she drops her arms from his shoulders and there is some space between them again, though they still lie close. “Of course I would save you.”

“But the children,” he protests, clasping his huge hand over her elbow as if he cannot relinquish contact with her body. “You would have left them behind—to save me?”

Suddenly, she remembers the terrible choice she faced. “Oh, my God. What did I almost do?” she whispers.

“It was my fault, Zaara,” Steve shakes his head, all too ready to absolve her. “But you have to promise never to risk yourself for me. Not ever again. They come first.”

“Oh, quit being such a bossypants,” she sighs, relieved she can use his stubbornness to create some distance between them. “Steve, I’m too tired to talk about this. I did what I had to do.”

He gazes into her eyes sharply. “Zaara, Ellie and Henry need you. Don’t ever put yourself at risk like that again. Not for me. Not ever. They come first.”

“I know,” she whispers. “It was too close. I’m sorry—but I’m not sorry I saved you.”

“Alright,” he acquiesces, sensing she acknowledges the gravity of her choice. Shifting gears, he curls closer to her on the bed, moving his hand up her arm. He makes sure to stroke his thick thumb back and forth over her shoulder while she tries not to shiver. “But I wanted to ask you about something else.”

“What is it?” she yawns, nearing the end of her energy. Sleep is so close.

“You told that woman—you said you love me,” his voice trembles, and his eyes glimmer hopefully in the dark.

Closing her eyes as if she can block it out, she bites her lip. _Oh, shit. I did say that._ “Uh, okay.”

“Did you mean it?” He hadn’t planned to follow up so rapidly, but he cannot resist. Lying face to face like this, he feels naked. Vulnerable. And he has to know.

“Steve,” she protests weakly.

“Wait,” he interjects, for a sudden guilt overcomes him. _I’m being selfish. She’s tired and she’s hurt, and I've gotta put her first._ Nevertheless, he dares to wrap his arms around her and holds her close once again, his chin tickled by her brown wisps of hair. He closes his eyes. “You don’t have to answer that. There’s no hurry. Just know that . . . that I love you. And the children. Ellie and Henry and . . . I want us to be a family. I can’t stop what’s in my heart. I love you, Zaara. I want a chance with you. And I’m serious about it. Just rest and don’t worry about anything right now . . . Give it some time. You’ll see. I know you have feelings for me, and I know you have reservations. But I want you to give us a chance. I want you to recover and take your time before you decide anything. I'll wait as long as it takes. And . . . if you decide you only want me as a friend,” he swallows, a lump suddenly blocking his throat. “I’ll be one, and not anything more. If that’s what you really want. I promise.”

To be in his embrace, to surrender her body to the weight of his own, is just about the best feeling in the world. Only a hug from Ellie or Henry could compete. Too tired to ponder the more sensual implications of being this close to Steve and the thrill that ripples through her body at his confession of love, Zaara lets her head nod off upon his shoulder. “Okay,” she whispers, and falls asleep.

When Bucky returns, he finds the two of them still wrapped around each other. “Punk,” he scoffs jealously, reading the sense of peace and contentment in Zaara’s resting mind. “That’s my girl you’re holdin’ there.”

Steve gives him a smirk and shrugs. “Looks like she might end up being my girl, after all.”

“Ah, shove over,” Bucky grunts and crawls into bed. He won’t give up this chance to be close to Zaara. He knows there’s nothing going on between them, at least not at this moment. Except, of course, on Steve’s part, he notes shrewdly. He’s never seen Steve looking so pleased with himself. And he finds himself resenting it—or at least resenting Steve’s arms around her body because he had been planning on holding Zaara all night long himself. But into the bed he goes and he manages to hook his new prosthetic arm around her hip, just below where Steve holds her snug.

 

 

~

 

 

When Zaara wakes, she finds herself practically sandwiched between two huge, strapping supersoldiers, both of whom refused to relinquish body contact with her throughout the entire night. Bucky’s prosthetic arm rests heavy on her thigh and she notices it looks different. _Forge. He must have finished it while I was sleeping._ Meanwhile, Steve’s thigh is hooked over her calf, his open hand weighing down upon her hip, his breaths slow and regular—indeed, his face is so close to her breasts her sensitive skin quivers at each exhalation from his mouth. Small pools of sweat linger below the spots where they maintain body contact and she curses the blanket. It’s too hot. If she moves even the tiniest bit, they’ll wake. But she has no choice.

She has to suppress a chuckle when both men, still unconscious, immediately try to pin her back down in their slumber, their touch both protective and proprietary. Finally, she is forced to admit that she is trapped—unless she uses telekinesis to pry them off. The idea makes her succumb to laughter though her voice is still hoarse. “Guys—I need the bathroom. Seriously. You gotta let me up.”

Bucky wakes first and chuckles. “Oops. Sorry about that, doll. Lemme help you.”

Steve, who is not far behind, eyes him jealously but hops out of bed and heads straight for the children, afraid they might hurt their mother inadvertently with their early morning enthusiasm. With a shiver, he recalls all that transpired last night and can’t dispel the guilt that contends with the burning pleasure in his heart. He knows he must allow Zaara some space after last night’s intense conversation. Besides, they have to start their morning routine since Ellie is going to camp and Henry has to go to pre-school. But Zaara calls after him. “Steve? Can we keep them home? I really want to spend time with them today.”

“Of course,” he murmurs in surprise. _She's right. She hasn't seen them in a week._

The day is a joyful one. The five of them lounge lazily around the suite all morning long, still in their pajamas. Later, they frolic down in the garden, though Zaara’s energy remains low. The men stuff her with pancakes and coffee and strawberries drowned in whipped cream, courtesy of Henry. They feel fiercely protective and keep a careful eye on the wild play of the children. But Zaara feels happy and at ease. Steve, in particular, eyes her fractured hand with heavy guilt until she brings it to his cheek and strokes him with it, the intimacy of her touch taking them both by surprise. She does it so naturally and is too tired to question herself or to even blush. “It’s alright, Steve,” she whispers, eyes smiling at him until his chest burns. “I’ve had worse.”

“The doc said it was minor,” Bucky adds. Though the old sense of rivalry has come between them, he can’t let his friend go around feeling so bad over something that wasn’t intentional on his part. _Lord knows I oughtta be the patron saint of guilt over things you can’t control._ “Said she’ll be able to play piano again with no problem. It’ll come off next week, doll.”

“Play piano?” Zaara snorts. “When does it look like I’ll ever have time to play piano in this house?”

“We’ve been waiting a long time to hear you play,” Steve says shyly. “Maybe you can let us sing along.”

“I’ll play for you, Steve!” Ellie sings and dances across the room. She takes piano lessons and is learning how to play with both hands at the same time. Though the five of them are somewhat loathe to leave the suite, Ellie leads the way to the staff lounge which hosts the grand piano. Both Zaara and Steve realize that they haven’t entered this room since they broke the news to Sam about his mutation. The denizens of the mansion give them a wide berth out of respect.

“Alright,” Zaara sighs and heads for the piano. But before she can open the lid, Bucky is there to assist while Steve wrestles Henry on the couch. She plays a few melodies with her right hand from an old collection of folk songs and vaudeville show tunes the men found on the bookshelf. Bucky selects upbeat melodies while Steve requests only the sappiest of love songs. He sings along quite boldly in a full, deep baritone. Though Zaara has never heard him sing before, her embarrassment quickly gives way to the tingling realization that he is singing love songs directly and unabashedly to her.

 _Let me call you sweetheart,_  
_I’m in love with you._  
_Let me hear you whisper that you love me, too._

It sounds so romantic. No one has ever serenaded her before and the back of her neck burns red. Thank goodness she doesn’t have to look him in the eye since she’s too busy reading the notes on the page. The children laugh and dance along and that relieves her somewhat, breaks up a bit of the sexual tension that plagues her whenever Steve’s close. It even assuages Bucky’s fit of jealousy. _Music soothes the savage beast,_ Zaara admits with some chagrin.

Later, they head to the stables so the children can ride. Steve exchanges knowing glances with Bucky. “What is it?” Zaara immediately demands.

“Ugh, I’m outta here,” Bucky shakes his head, grabbing the children and heading for the ponies. Steve continues doggedly on towards the opposite side of the barn which houses the big horses while Zaara follows.

“Deadbeat Dad?” she asks, mystified. Change has come, she can sense it, though it’s difficult to read animals. She wrinkles her nose, concentrating. “Something’s different.”

“Oh, it’s different, alright,” Steve agrees wryly.

“He’s . . . recovering?” Zaara asks, struggling to figure it out. It’s late in the afternoon and she’s still weary, after all. Horses’ minds are fairly instinctive and there are so many of them in the barn, most of them are simply happy to see her while others pine for treats or a chance to get out of their stalls. Deadbeat Dad, however, seems to have something else going on.

“I talked to Blink,” Steve says softly, turning her body to face the new gelding’s stall and resting his muscular hands upon her shoulders. Ever since she woke, he always hovers close by, never more than a step away. “She listened.”

“She what?” Zaara gasps in disbelief.

“She understood,” Steve continues, elated by the look on her face. “The vet came about four days ago. He did just fine. Blink and I were there the whole time.”

 “You watched?” she gasps again. _Captain America watched a horse get castrated. For real. OMFG._

“Yeah,” he admits, cringing. “Wasn’t fun.” He shifts his body uncomfortably, but suddenly turns her around in his arms so she is facing him and, without any hesitation, holds her close once again.

“Thank you,” she squeezes him emphatically, not caring how much it delights him. It makes him feel like a million bucks and he gazes down at her with the sweetest smile on his face.

“You’re welcome.”

“You kept busy while I was sleeping. Didn’t you?” she asks saucily, and if Steve didn’t know better, he’d think she was flirting with him.

“Yes,” he simply replies, unabashed. “I wanted to help. There’s lots to do around here. I just couldn’t sit around and not contribute. I had a good talk with Storm, too.”

“Storm?” her heart sinks, though her body still tingles at his touch. It’s so hard to think when she’s in his arms and he’s not letting go anytime soon. “What did you say to her?”

“Well,” he begins cautiously. “We’re saving the real talk for when you’re well again. But I didn’t like the way things went down with Gravitron. The X-men need to team up with the Avengers. We've got to be able to work together. We’re facing too many global threats and none of us can do it alone. And you were on your own with Gravitron. Vision combed through the data and he called it: tuns out you took down Gravitron all by yourself. Storm and Wanda couldn’t hit him with anything until you’d countered his force and psi-blasted him. And you payed the price.”

“Steve,” she sighs, his hands still heavy on her shoulders. “Can we talk about this later?”

“Of course,” he murmurs and, without any hesitation, pulls her even closer to him. “I’m just glad to have you back.” Using his thumbs to make long, slow strokes across her back, she lets herself relax into him, resting her cheek against his heart. She can feel it beating and he wraps his arms around her even tighter. It feels so good she has to bite her lip to stop herself from moaning with pleasure.

“Hey, you two,” Bucky calls, the children skipping along behind him. He has one of the smaller ponies by the bridle, but Zaara can tell he really doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. Luckily, he chose the friendliest one, no doubt with some urging from Ellie: Peppermint. “Ellie’s ready for a ride.”

“I’ll saddle Peppermint,” Zaara calls back, deeply relieved for the distraction. Steve releases her with great reluctance.

 

 

~

 

 

By the end of the evening, the five of them have had, more or less, a perfect family day. With the children in their rooms, Zaara snuggles close to Bucky on the queen-size guest bed, ready for a movie. The men even make popcorn, insisting it’s alright to eat in their bed though they did burn their first attempt at her recipe. Steve asks to watch Zaara’s favourite movie and, though she loathes to give up their quest to watch films in some historical order, she selects _Strictly Ballroom_ , a flick she’s watched dozens of times and would take along with her to a desert island. The men are amused but Bucky snorts.

“I can dance better than that, doll,” he says when the credits start to roll.

“Is that a promise or a boast, Sergeant Barnes?” she asks with a smirk while Steve looks on in envy. He never did learn how to dance.

“A promise,” Bucky asserts.

“Well,” Zaara says slowly, thinking out loud. “Things seem to be getting back to normal around here, so maybe you should start teaching that dance class after all.”

“Dance class?” he frowns, unable to imagine himself as an instructor of anything, ever.

“Well, Steve promised to teach art,” she points out.

“I never promised,” Steve retorts. “But I’ll teach—if you want me to.”

She sighs, knowing he’ll do anything she asks. It’s a powerful brew. Both men are joining her in bed tonight; of that she is certain. Bucky won’t have it any other way and the plaintive look in Steve’s eyes practically begs for it. Even Zaara has to admit it to herself—she can’t imagine sleeping apart from them again. Not yet—not after all that has happened. It worries her, though she tries to ignore it. But as the lights dim and they make ready for bed, she recalls the strange apparition of Jean Grey.

_Tarry no longer._

_Tend your garden._

What the hell did it mean? Zaara can’t figure it out. She hasn't the patience to decipher a puzzle or solve some riddle from the Sphinx. _I’ve got bigger fish to fry_. Instead, she decides to go with her gut. The Professor always had a healthy respect for instinct and she cannot help but feel that her admission of love saved Steve's life. But from what? Death, to be sure—Zaara doesn’t understand how or why, but she would not let him go into that river and she determined to make that fact abundantly clear to the entity who appeared in the guise of Jean Grey. When Steve left the dream, everything--the entity, the beach--it all disappeared and she remembers nothing more. And now, as she curls up in her soft, modest pajamas with two men in her bed, all she wants is to relax and feel safe again. Two heartbeats on either side of her, two masculine scents with heavy breath, two sets of strong, protective arms ready to hold her as soon as she gives even the slightest hint of needing them.

Two men she can barely admit she loves.

 

 

~

 

 

The days unfold in a blur. The school year is almost out of session, but Steve and Bucky’s classes are about to begin and will continue throughout the summer even if half the student body goes home for the holiday. Somewhere in the middle of it all, they will vacation at the Xaviar beach house down in Delaware but until then school, more or less, is in session.

Steve nervously dusts off the dozen or so heavy, wooden easels that have been shut away in a storage room for far too long. A class in beginner drawing seems a good place to start and he selects charcoal, pencil, and heavy and lightweight paper to experiment in figure drawing, landscapes, still-life, and portraits. To his surprise, Zaara enrolls in his class. Her hand has healed fully and she smiles at him discreetly from her easel at the back of the group, making him feel more than a little self-conscious. To his delight, Storm and Rogue also join in. It seems there are several aspiring artists in the X-mansion and Steve wants to encourage them all. However, he is most curious about Zaara and why she wants to draw. He files the question away for later.

Bucky’s class is an elective and is held in the evening. Storm wanted him to teach twice a week since dance is best learned through repetition, but he insists on starting slow. Zaara helps select the recordings and carefully coaches him in dance pedagogy, boosting his confidence. Branding himself a loner, though he never was in his original life, the former Winter Soldier can barely manage to think of himself as a dance instructor though he does well enough. He knows the moves better than anyone for he’d been quite the hoofer in his day. Zaara is happy to serve as his partner and she even picks up a few steps well enough so that they have quite a lot of fun together. Steve, however, can barely tolerate the jealousy that arises in him when they dance. Luckily, Rogue, who is anxious to avoid partnering with Bobby, also partners with Bucky and that often leaves Zaara free to partner with Steve, to his immense satisfaction. The classes are so popular that both Zaara and Storm long to have Bucky teach more. Storm also hopes he’ll branch out and teach a special self-defense class for the girls to supplement their X-men training, though they know he’s not ready for it yet. Steve agrees Bucky should stay away from fighting, at least for a little while.

Steve, however, is less reluctant to take a step back when it comes to the X-men’s training. Together, they hash out various scenarios until Storm agrees to allow Steve to observe a few of their training sessions. But anything more official has to be put on hold until they can hold some frank talks with the Avengers—and that can only happen after Steve patches things up with Tony. Storm insists on it.

“Don’t hold your breath,” he tells her, frowning.

 

 

~

 

 

Despite the nocturnal camaraderie between the three of them, a peculiar sort of tension is mounting between Zaara and Steve during the daylight hours. Whenever it arises, Bucky makes a point of quietly backing off and leaving them be. It seems, in part, to be some sort of subtle, unspoken negotiation between the two of them. It happens at odd times during the day. Bucky can see it in the way Steve perches behind Zaara during drawing class, stroking his brow and murmuring softly to himself. Or in the way she gazes across the table at him during lunchtime, frustration and yearning in her eyes. The tension seems to drop whenever they pick up the children at the end of the day, for they are always so happy to see them. Hugs and kisses follow, and they all feel like one big happy family again. Until night comes.

They watch their movie or, occasionally, head down to the staff lounge so Zaara can play piano. As is his wont, Steve selects the sappiest, old fashioned love songs while Bucky attempts to inject something lighter. Able to play with both hands once again, Zaara’s musicianship impresses them both. She’s become a bit of a whiz at sight-reading and Bucky reads her hesitation with all the love songs so he always suggests fun tunes like _Alabama Jubilee_ or _Hello, My Baby_. Of course Steve has to counter with something that just drips with romance. He makes her play _Let Me Call You Sweetheart_ each and every time, singing it with full-throated gusto while she blushes wildly. He also requests _I’m In The Mood For Love_ , making her blush terribly since he looks at her like he’s about to strip off all her clothes and make love to her right there on the goddamned piano.

She closes Bucky off completely whenever this happens.

They still go to bed together as a threesome, Steve always making sure to be on his best behavior. When they wake in the morning, however, she seems to finds herself back in his arms. She accepts it silently and moves on with her day. At times, Bucky catches a glimpse of her feelings and can tell how badly she’s torn. How she hates to have Steve pursue her and disrupt what she thinks her life ought to be like; how she remembers the way he almost died, how she said that she loved him, and the tenderness she feels for him now.

It all leaves him feeling helpless.

One morning after the children have left, Bucky catches fragments of their conversation through the kitchen door and abruptly wishes that he hadn’t. They really ought to be more discreet since the tether doesn’t allow him to go far. With chagrin, he realizes that needs to change. Soon.

“So, if you would ever date anyone, you’re saying it would be me?” he hears Steve ask tremulously.

Zaara frowns, but the red glow on her cheeks betrays her and her voice barely sounds over a whisper. “Yes. If I would date anybody, it would be you,” she replies in hot resentment because he has forced the admission from her. It’s totally unfair.

Her words send a sharp stab of excitement through his body and he shivers, but he quickly steadies himself. “Not Bucky?” he cannot resist asking. He’s been jealous for so long.

From his perch in the parlour, Bucky stiffens. He can’t take anymore and heads out to the garden to give them privacy. _Sorry, doll. You’re on your own_.

 _Traitor._ She sighs. “We talked about this. Bucky’s my patient. It would be unethical.”

“But you don’t deny having feelings for him.” His voice rings deep. There’s no going back now.

“Of course I have feelings for him,” she snaps, getting angry. _What the hell?_ “I care about Bucky very much. He’s a good man. I want to help him.”

“Not those kinds of feelings,” Steve clarifies, his tone chastising her. “I think you know what I’m talking about. That lady on the beach saw it, too. You told her you love me. Do you?”

She won’t answer. Finally, she mutters, “I don’t care what that lady said. And what does it matter, anyways? I don’t date. Anyone. Now you’ve got your answer. Will you leave me alone?” But she can’t tear her eyes from him. It’s that look on his face, the cross of vulnerability and determination in his blue-green eyes so open and clear, his feelings pouring out of him untrammeled and she has no doubt they come straight from his heart. _He loves me . . . He wants me, wants to be with me. In every way. Oh, God it just gets worse and worse._ She bites her lip hard. “I should go.”

His gaze doesn’t waver, but his voice is soft. Gentle. A hint of a smile brushes over his lips as he realizes he has her cornered. “Okay. Whatever you need.” _She wants me. She’s fighting it, doesn’t wanna show it. But she can’t hide it anymore._

She takes a breath and blinks a few times, her lips turning downward while his turn upward. Spinning around on her heel, she trots down the stairs to the garden. _Damnit. He has no right. No right. He’s gonna keep acting all adorable now, keep trying to win me over by doing more nice things for me, make my life easier, entertain the kids, solve my problems. I can’t let it happen. He’ll rip my heart in two. The kids just love him, so I’m trapped. There’s no way out. He’s gonna corner me and I’ll never make it out alive. The next time he gives me another one of those kisses I won’t be able to stop myself from kissing him right back. Goddamnit, why does he have to be so stubborn? Why can’t he leave things alone_? And she heads straight for Bucky who is sitting on a chaise in dismay, waiting for her. As always.

Without a word, he pulls her into his lap and wraps his arms around her, giving her the sweetest, most soothing hug.

_I got you, doll. Don’t worry._

 

 

~

 

 

It has been two weeks since Zaara woke and she is finally strong enough to return to her full exercise regimen. Fitness classes, ballet, a bit of weightlifting, and even boxing are on the menu. The men are delighted (they love to watch her exercise), though she won’t allow them to train her. “It’s only a matter of time,” Bucky tells her cryptically and Steve nods his head emphatically, but she ignores them on purpose. Nevertheless, they seize the opportunity to observe since, conveniently, Bucky can’t leave her side and Steve won’t leave Bucky. There seems to be no end to their enthusiasm or curiosity when it comes to Zaara’s workouts. They watch with a mixture of surprise, delight, and plain, old fashioned lust. It’s a distraction and she fights it off, warning herself not to imagine going back to Matt for a boxing lesson no matter how badly she is tempted to escape their penetrating gaze. Bucky frowns when he detects the thought fleeing her mind, but she says nothing and he won’t tell Steve. It would only spell trouble.

With her recovery almost complete, Zaara amps up her efforts to clear more of Hydra’s trigger words from Bucky’s mind. Sam and the triplets join in the effort, as well. To his credit, Sam has made tremendous progress in his telepathic training. Far more disciplined and dedicated than the three adolescent girls he is forced to spend time with, Zaara is so delighted with him she begins to wonder whether he might join the X-men one day. However, she has no doubt as to where his loyalties lie. Wanda joins them as well, but strictly as an observer. Telepathy is not her true gift, but she offers her support as well as a power boost on Zaara’s behalf, if case she ever needs it. (The two of them have finally had a chance to experiment with her curious, hex-like powers and have discovered that Zaara can manipulate Wanda’s energy after she exerts it outward, and can channel and direct it with greater precision and accuracy than Wanda herself. Steve is dumbfounded by this fact and, to his dismay, realizes he’s in way over his head when it comes to training his former pupil. Zaara thoroughly enjoys having something to hold over his head.) Rogue also makes a point of attending Bucky’s sessions, squeezing his hand tight to help him endure it. The dangerous mutant can now count herself as among the best of his friends.

Over the course of a few sessions, their efforts meet with success and they manage to shave off a few more words. _S_ _ix down; four to go,_ Zaara tells Bucky with great happiness. _We’re well on our way._

Late one night, Zaara and Steve find themselves alone on the balcony. Bucky has abandoned them quite deliberately and with his usual bitterness. He hides out in Ellie’s room, helping her colour her mermaid book and trying to stay out of earshot. Henry is already asleep so Bucky is relieved to have some company while he avoids the tense negotiations between the two people he adores. Indeed, as Zaara’s recovery is finally complete, Steve seems to be grilling her daily on the breadth and scope of her mutant abilities, pressuring her to become privy to the secret operations of the X-men. Already he knows about Cerebro, but of course there must be more. He feels it to be his duty to learn of it, though he must admit that in his heart of hearts it has more to do with his feelings for Zaara than anything else. The tension Bucky senses between them now is not unlike what happens whenever Steve and Zaara discuss their personal relationship. In fact, the former Winter Soldier knows enough to realize that, when it comes to Steve, the two are one and the same.

“Well,” Zaara begins hesitantly. “Have you ever heard of the expression Jack of all trades, master of none? That’s sort of what my powers are like. I can learn all sorts of things, copy what other mutants can do, but that doesn’t mean I can do it very well. It takes practice. Like teleporting. And it’s still a human body. I can’t withstand certain things, not unless I was like . . .” Her voice falters.

“Like the Phoenix?” Steve finishes for her.

Her face goes pale. “Yeah.”

He nods. “Rogue told me the Professor didn’t worry about that. Said he thought your powers were more creative than destructive—almost the opposite of the Phoenix.”

“Or two sides of the same coin,” she frowns. “Class fives are unlimited. Unlimited good, unlimited bad. Isn’t it all the same?”

“No. No it’s not,” he insists. “I’ve known you long enough, Zaara. I’ve seen how you use your powers, what you can do with them, how hard you work to control them or resist using them at all. You’re always trying to help, you do everything you can to keep these kids safe. You use them for good.”

“That doesn’t mean I can always control them,” she counters, getting angry. “You must know about Ellie and Henry, don’t you?”

Steve gulps. She waits until he finally speaks in a ragged voice for her question managed to cut him somehow. “Those kids are great. They’re perfect. And I’m crazy about them.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “I haven’t told you everything.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” he replies defensively and she can see his usually proud chest collapse inward. It’s as if he senses the truth about them. “Whatever you have to say, it doesn’t matter. They’re perfect—just the way they are.”

“Steve." She cannot help but cry his name for her heart aches and he reads her shame since Zaara is not proud of the way her children came into this world. With a sob, she succumbs to his embrace and the tender touch of his hands upon her body. Conversation always seems to end this way for them lately, with fondles and caresses, her body leaning into his. _Maybe Bucky’s right,_ she thinks. _Maybe it is only a matter of time._ But Steve does not take advantage and restrains himself from brushing his lips over her cheek. He only squeezes her harder until Bucky suddenly appears on the balcony.

“Zaara?” Bucky asks, shivering and raising his eyes up to the heavens. Something dark hovers over them in the night sky, something so massive it blocks out the stars.

It terrifies him.

“I feel it,” she whispers, her shame forgotten. With panic in her heart, she summons the X-Men to the front of the school.

 _Guys,_ she calls them telepathically. _We have visitors. From space._

 

 

~

 

 

The self-proclaimed Guardians of the Galaxy land their ship with aplomb in the very front yard of the X-mansion, making Storm breathe a prayer of thanks that it is night. Zaara rushes downstairs to stand by her side, grasping her elbow tight. Steve and Bucky crowd in close beside them. “I’ve called everyone,” Zaara tells her in a soft voice. “But I don’t think you need to worry. Their intentions aren’t hostile.”

“A spaceship,” Storm muses, eyeing the damage to the lawn. “In our front yard. What the hell are we gonna tell the gardener?”

“I’ll figure out a way to fix it,” Zaara sighs.

“Don’t you think there’s more to worry about than gardening at the moment?” Steve asks as the other X-men swiftly join them. The gangplank of the strange looking vessel finally slides down and Rogue, Dust, Jubilee, Kitty, Blink, Pete, Bobby, Sam, and Wanda stand by, jaws dropping.

With an inelegant thump, Peter Quill saunters down the plank to take an appreciative look at the largely feminine crowd that greets him. “We come in peace, earthlings. Ladies. And, uh, men. Dudes. I mean . . . girls. Lots of girls. Wow—you’re all pretty hot. Ow!” The fierce looking green-skinned woman who follows him gives him a sharp jab in the ribs.

“Thor’s with them,” Zaara whispers in Storm’s ear. Both Steve and Bucky catch it.

“Thor?” Storm whispers back. “From the Avengers?”

“Yeah,” she nods, not taking her eyes off Quill. She has no trouble reading him. He seems to be harmless, albeit slightly crazy.

“I’ve been waiting to see him for a long time,” Steve muses, eyes also locked on Quill. With his hands on Zaara’s shoulders, he can tell she’s reasonably calm so he feels less inclined to be fearful. Nevertheless, he won’t let down his guard and neither will Bucky until they are 100 percent certain it’s safe.

“Uh, we’re here to bring you the Thor,” Quill grins, glancing back at his ragtag crew. Though it is difficult to look passed the green-skinned woman and the hulking red alien muscleman, not to mention a creepy and hostile-seeming racoon, Zaara spots the Norse god of thunder at the back of the bunch, his tousled blonde hair unmistakable. But there is yet another being behind him, one far taller than the rest and who crouches awkwardly as he (or she) makes their cumbersome way down the gangplank.

“Steven!” Thor thunders, oblivious to the many stares of shock. “These are my new friends!”

“Thor!” Steve steps out of the crowd of X-men, offering his hand. Thor takes it. “It’s been too long.”

“Indeed,” the thunder god nods in wonder until his eyes lock on Zaara. A most curious expression appears on his face and he suddenly drops down to one knee, begging for her hand. “But what have we here? A Freia maiden? My lady—why are you not in your garden?”

“My—my garden?” Zaara stammers, barely able to complete the sentence while the rest of the X-men look askance at her. Nevertheless, she gives Thor her hand, for how could she refuse? He kisses it reverently.

“Verily,” Thor beams with ebullience and rises up. "If I were blind, I would know what you are." Then, as an aside to Steve, he elbows the man so hard he almost knocks him down. “’Tis a rare flower, my friend. We have tournaments for them, you know. In Asgard. Only the bravest warriors win their hand. Why have you not yet staked your claim?”

“Tournaments,” Zaara repeats in complete and utter disbelief while Storm and Rogue look on, baffled. “Just what I’ve always dreamed of.”

Bucky blinks in confusion.

Steve gestures politely at the group of X-men behind him, trying to maintain his composure. “Sounds like we have a lot catching up to do, don’t we?”

 

 

~

 

 

When he learns about the sundering of the Avengers, Thor is dismayed to say the least. It troubles him greatly and he expounds upon his suspicions about the Infinity gems and the myriad of other problems facing Asgard. Over time, it seems the gods have been subject to an infinitesimal form of starvation with Freia’s crops diminishing and Odin unwell. The harvest has been in steady decline for some years now and half the apples are barely even edible. A strange disease has struck the sacred garden and it is a constant worry. Even the gods have vulnerabilities. Odin, moreover, does not seem like himself. Malnourishment has hit him hard and Thor is uncertain what to do. Fearing that the twilight of Asgard is imminent, he has been tracking down the Infinity stones in an attempt to unravel the riddle.

Now it seems his prayers may have been answered.

“Our meeting here is fortuitous, Captain,” he grins widely at Storm and Zaara. The others have left them and only Thor, Steve, Bucky, Zaara, and Storm remain. “Two precious jewels—a lightening sister and a Freia maiden. I would never have dreamt of finding you both here. The Lord Quill’s energy readings directed us towards this place as a stronghold of ripening power on Midgard. ‘Tis a strange place for you both to dwell, my ladies.”

“Uh, we were born here,” Storm explains patiently for the third or fourth time. The concept seems to be quite difficult for Thor to grasp. He explains that he’s been on the lookout for the gems, at Odin’s urging, though he also worries about the waning of the celestial apples and the ensuing loss of ambrosia which spells their doom. Hope appears in his eyes, however, whenever he gazes upon Zaara. The existence of mutants he takes in stride, not at all shocked by those living with exceptional abilities on earth. Only Storm, whom he flirtatiously refers to as his “lightening sister” and Zaara, the so-called Freia maiden, trouble him. Convinced they do not belong on earth, he urges them both to return with him to Asgard. When Zaara points out that she has two children and cannot leave them, Thor is outraged.

“Only two?” he asks sharply.

“Uh, yeah,” she replies, even more confused. Steve and Bucky are confounded as well. Their protective instincts rear up, and Bucky (who has never met Thor before) cannot quell his suspicions.

“'Tis a shame, at your age,” he snorts derisively for, in Asgardian terms, this is rather a low number and approaches sacrilege.

“Uh, how many am I supposed to have by my age?” Zaara swallows, barely able to squeak the question out.

“Five or six at least,” he muses. “Your warriors have not served you well.”

“My . . . warriors?” she asks, stunned.

“Yes,” he nods emphatically. “Steven, are you not her _Primära_?”

“ _Primära_?” Steve repeats, mystified. All this talk confuses him terribly.

“Our ways vex you, do they not?” Thor gives a hearty laugh. “Asgard needs your help, Lady Zaara. You must come and save us. Our gardens languish, our trees are dying. Mother Freia summons you home.”

“Earth is my home,” Zaara mumbles, gripping Bucky’s arm so tightly it hurts him. She feels too threatened to notice. Now that she’s getting accustomed to Thor’s mindwaves, she can read him a little and has no doubt he believes every bizarre sentence that falls from his lips. The images she sees, however, are really too much. Other worldly landscapes of scarlet and azure skies, countless golden turrets and spires, mystical gardens of pink waterfalls, and the faces of mythical and immortal beings stupefy her.

“Have you no warriors, my lady?” Thor asks bluntly, glancing pointedly at Steve and Bucky with bemusement. Zaara can tell he believes the two of them ought to be her warriors, whatever the hell that means. “Have heart. You will find countless warriors on Asgard willing to pledge their lives to you. Your children are too few and the power is too sacred. Come with me, heal our garden, and we will hold a tournament to win your hand.”

“Uh . . . That sounds very tempting but, uh . . . no thanks,” she replies, more shaken than she’d like to admit. Steve stands close behind her to steady her and tries not to feel anger at Thor's words. Bucky fights not to wince at the way she tightens her grip on his arm again.

“Steven!” Thor’s voice booms with joy as he observes the protective posture he has assumed on her behalf. “Then you would be her _Primära_ after all! And your brother-in-arms would make a loyal and fitting _Sekundära_! I see how you have fashioned a home here on earth after all, my lady. But Asgard needs you now. You must come. I will bring you on the ‘morrow so you may tend our sacred garden. Heal us. Nourish us and bring us peace. And when it is done, I will return you to Midgard.”

_Tarry no longer._

_Tend your garden._

The memory makes her wither. Zaara grips Bucky’s hand so tightly he wonders if she’s about to rip it off.

 

 

~

 

 

The self-appointed Guardians of the Galaxy enjoy a brief respite at the X-mansion. The children, of course, are fascinated by these odd characters though Quill makes a point of keeping both Rocket and Gamora as far from them as possible for they have little tolerance for young ones. Drax and Groot, on the other hand, get along with them all like a house on fire. Mutant children are well acquainted with difference. They entertain each other while Thor remains sequestered with Steve, Storm, Bucky, and Zaara.

When the five of them finally finish their talk, they settle upon a most uncomfortable course of action.

Steve is to accompany Zaara to Asgard and act as her _Primara_ with the express intent of keeping Asgardian warriors far away from her. They will follow Thor to the sacred garden so that Zaara can heal the trees while Steve stands guard. When her task is complete, Thor will bring them to Heimdell who will then return them to earth. It sounds simple enough, but Bucky hates being separated from both of them and Zaara hates the thought of traveling to another dimension. Though Steve worries about leaving the children, he knows Bucky and Rogue will take good care of them and that his place is by Zaara’s side. He has every intention of learning more about Freia maidens and the _Primära_ , though he is smart enough to keep his mouth shut for the time being. Zaara is terribly upset and would never agree to go if the situation were not dire and Thor so confident that she could make a difference.

Deep in her heart of hearts, Zaara has always believed she’d been given a class five mutation for a reason. And she, too, intends to learn more about Freia maidens, and determine if that is indeed what she is evolving to be. Healing and fertility powers are extremely rare in mutants. Not even Jean Grey, the only other class five mutant the Professor has ever known, could boast such a combination of skills. Though Zaara fears Asgard may try to claim her as some sort of servant to the garden and prevent her from returning to her children, she also knows that nothing on heaven or earth could keep her from Ellie and Henry. Only the prospect of losing Steve ever brought her close to that, though she can't let herself think about it too much. With Steve accompanying her to Asgard, she feels braver than ever before.

_This is gonna be some adventure. I ought to have my head examined._

When the five of them head back to the ship, they find the Guardians waiting for them. Groot, the queer and massive tree being, breathes and howls in his strange, arboreal way. “I . . . am . . . Groot . . .”

“Nice to meet you,” Zaara replies politely, reaching out to touch a branch. She cannot read him this creature’s mind for it is unlike any she has ever encountered. Plants have always responded to her touch by blooming, blossoming, and growing most decadently. They are not at all like animals in terms of consciousness and even less like humans. Many have no gender at all though Zaara can occasionally read waves of consciousness in them belonging to both genders. Of one thing she is quite certain: they love to reproduce. If these lifeforms were anything close to human, she’d honestly have to call them whores. Sex certainly seems to be the effect she has on them, or at least something they love to engage in when she is present and Groot is no exception. Reaching a long, bark-encrusted branch out to caress her cheek, Groot smoothly wraps and curls itself most intimately about her waist and hips, making her giggle. A sudden explosion of tiny blossoms showers down upon them all from the tree-being’s uppermost twigs. Everyone gazes at them in wonder. Bucky reaches out and catches a few of the delicate petals in his metal palm.

“Aw, come on!” Rocket howls in exasperation. “Always ready to get down and dirty, aren’t you, Groot? Go ahead, do the wild thing. We’ve only got a galaxy to save.”

Zaara gives a sudden sob and runs away.

 

 

~

 

 

Frozen to the spot, Steve and Bucky stare wide-eyed until, at exactly the same moment, they turn and run after her. Their supersoldier strides match each other perfectly. Bucky reaches out to Zaara with his mind and reads her pain as well as her determination to be alone.  _You shouldn’t be alone, doll. Not when you’re hurting this bad._ “Go to her, pal,” he instructs Steve who skids to a sudden halt.

“What? Me?” Steve asks in amazement, turning back to face him. Bucky always seems to be the one Zaara wants when she feels bad. It makes no sense.

“She’s stopping me,” he explains his heels digging into the ground. “She's ashamed; doesn’t want me to see. But . . . she can’t stop you.”

He nods in acknowledgment and hurries on without a word until he finds Zaara seated on a stump at the edge of the forest, not far from Theo’s cottage. Immediately he can tell she’s been crying though he does not understand why. To host visitors from outer space puts everyone on edge, even if they are friendly. The fact that they call themselves as the Guardians of the Galaxy doesn’t exactly soothe them, either. And what Thor had to say wasn’t easy to take, not with this Freia maiden business or their impending visit to Asgard. “Zaara." He kneels at her side and places his heavy hands deliberately upon her knees. “What happened? Why are you crying?”

Unwilling to pry her hands from her face, she swallows a few more sobs before she speaks. “That . . . that Groot thing,” she cries and he quietly puts his hands around her wrists. He’s exquisitely gentle and won’t pull them away from her face, but simply holds them there. “The tree.”

“Yes,” Steve nods, not letting go of her wrists even while she slides them down into her lap. But she turns her face away so he won’t see the hot tears still swelling in her eyes. “I saw all those little flowers. They were pretty. So why are you crying?”

Glancing back at him, she meets him with an expression he’s never seen before. It puzzles him. “They’re babies. His babies. And mine. _I made babies with a space alien tree thing, Steve_. Oh, God!” She gives a wail of despair.

With some difficulty, Steve suppresses his grin. He knows it’s really no joke even if it does tickle his funny bone. Zaara is genuinely upset about making baby plants with that tree thing, almost as if they were human babies. But he’s seen the effect she has on flowers before. It’s all over the garden and in the way they always have to re-pot the houseplants or turn them outdoors. It’s another one of her gifts and he thinks it’s beautiful. Finally, he releases her wrists so she can rub her eyes. Sighing, she gazes at him implacably, his hands now resting in her lap. “Then you know about Ellie and Henry. Don’t you?”

“What about them?” he asks hesitantly, a sudden new fear gnawing at his gut. _This was what she was getting at before_.

“All this time,” Zaara shakes her head grimly. “And you never thought to ask who their father is?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he repeats, worry seeping in.

“It does,” she snaps back. “It matters. Do you know why?”

Helpless now, Steve gulps. She waits until he responds in a ragged voice. "You don't have to tell me."

“You want to take me on a date?” she scoffs. “You think we could have a relationship?” She pauses, her voice growing even chillier. “You never asked about Ellie and Henry’s father. You never wondered? Well I’ll tell you who their father is. The answer is . . . _I don’t know. I don’t know who their father is_.”

Steve blinks back tears. He doesn’t understand what her words have done to him, but he has to fight not to cry.

“These powers,” she suppresses a sob with dogged determination. “ _These powers gave me my children_.” And she slides off the stump down into the grass, head in hands again, heart pounding as it did when she discovered she was pregnant—both times. But she gives a bitter smile.

Still kneeling, Steve puts his hands firmly upon her knees. But his touch is not provocative or suggestive. It is gentle. And kind. It makes her feel just the tiniest bit better. “They both had fathers, actually,” she sniffles and wipes away the hints of a tear. “Different ones. We did genetic testing. But we don’t know who they are or how I got pregnant. The Professor’s best guess was that some part of me wanted a baby so my powers just took the DNA of some random man, maybe someone I passed on the street and . . . voila.” She shrugs her shoulders ironically. “Another reason to stay single. Who would want to be with a woman that could end up having another man’s baby?”

Unfazed, Steve stares hard at her. “I do.”

She gasps. Her breaths come fast and she has to bite her lip and will herself not to hyperventilate at the expression on his face. Bucky’s words ring in her ears. _He’ll love you however you want, doll. From near or far, it don’t matter. He’ll love you all the same._ Steve’s hands, still resting upon her knees, feel warm and heavy.

“Zaara.” He gazes at her with such tenderness it undoes her completely. Opening his arms, she lets herself fall into them and knows she's come home. The tears finally pour. He whispers now, stroking her arms back and forth with his hands. “Nothing you’ve said makes any difference. I know . . . I just know—we should be together.”

With a good deal of willpower, she stops crying and looks him straight in the eye. “How do you know?”

Steve shakes his head. “I just do. And that picture—”

“Not that picture again,” she shivers. “You know what it did to you . . .”

“I know,” he interjects. “Maybe it’s just the way I feel about you. Maybe it’s the way I see you. Maybe I just want you to look at me . . . the way she looked at whoever who drew her picture.”

They cling to each other in silence for a while, Steve feeling a pang of guilt for enjoying their embrace while she obviously still suffers. But he dares to ask a question, albeit in a soft, tentative voice. “I hope this means you’ll let me take you out to dinner sometime, just the two of us.”

She sighs again. Eyes still red, she meets his gaze. She can no longer deny the effect he has on her body. His admission has completely done her in. _He still wants me—even with all these crazy powers. He sees me, the real me, knows the truth. And he still wants me. He’s not afraid. The children love him_. There's really no choice left in the matter. She surrenders.

“What the hell. Let’s go on a date.”

“It’s settled, then,” he nods with so much satisfaction he can only seem smug. “It’s a date. After Asgard.”

Surprised, she finds herself nodding in agreement because suddenly, everything feels so right.

“Yes. After Asgard.”

 

 

 

 


	19. Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree With Anyone Else But Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Asgard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is my fantasy-style chapter, inspired by The Lord of the Rings, the Narnia series, and all the fantasy fic I've ever read as well as ancient history and mythology. Hope you enjoy it! It was very tricky to find the right tone. I hope I succeeded.
> 
> I did see the Ragnarok film and enjoyed it. I had already planned this chapter, so it will deviate somewhat from the MCU at this stage. However, I tried to keep certain things in place so that you can sort of imagine the events of Ragnarok happening once Steve and Zaara depart from Asgard.
> 
> We only have one chapter in Asgard, then back to our regularly scheduled action/adventure/romance style. Fantasy won't really enter the rest of this fic, but for a few small points that are significant for the plot; you'll probably get the gist of it once you finish reading this section.
> 
> And, as you might sense, things start getting steamy from here on out!
> 
> So glad I could post before Christmas.  
> Happy reading and Happy Holidays!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _Don’t sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me_  
_Anyone else but me, anyone else but me_  
_No, no, no_  
_Don’t sit under the apple tree_  
_with anyone else but me_  
_‘Til I come marching home_  
_Don’t go walkin’ down lover’s lane with anyone else but me_  
_Anyone else but me, anyone else but me_  
_No, no, no_  
_Don’t go walkin’ down lovers’ lane with anyone else but me_  
_‘Till I come marching home_

 

 

 

Travelling to Asgard is no fun.

No fun at all.

Flying up the Rainbow bridge or the Bi-whatever-the-hell Thor calls it makes Zaara want to puke. It’s not because of the way it looks; indeed, it’s a rather lovely cosmic rainbow and, if she weren’t hurtling through it at a million miles an hour, she’d be rather in awe of its beauty. Oh no—it’s the mode of transportation that shakes her. _Like being put into a giant blender and sucked up a galactic vacuum cleaner_ , she thinks. Cradled snugly in Steve’s arm in what would otherwise be a delightfully sensual experience, she finds herself forced to offer a rather unsavoury choice. “Where do you want me to hurl, Steve? Your suit or your hair?” she chokes, giving an involuntary heave. Luckily, nothing comes out.

“What?” Steve shouts, desperately hoping to have misheard her. Storm provided him with an official X-men uniform, though it’s only on loan. Steve is not an X-man but still, he’d prefer not to return it covered in vomit.

“It’s gotta land somewhere!” she hollers back while her stomach lurches and she fights to keep her food down. Steve pretty much forced her to eat a big meal before the journey so she knows who’s to blame. “What’s it gonna be?”

“Aim for Thor’s cape!” he hollers back brazenly, though he cannot stop from cringing. His one-armed grip is so powerful Zaara doesn’t even realize his opposite arm is busy clinging to the god of thunder who shoots up into the air like a rocket, propelling them through the weird rainbow portal into a different dimension. Surprisingly, the nausea abates and she manages a giggle as their trajectory smooths out. She squeezes her mouth shut tight and prays for the dizzying journey to come to an end.

It does.

Before she can feel her own feet, she finds herself standing in an enormous golden atrium where a tall, eagle-eyed man sporting a horned helmet awaits. It’s the sort of headgear that reminds her of some half-crazed opera singer in a chainmail brassiere. But the thought swiftly dissipates because she still hasn’t quite found her feet and it takes a moment to realize she’s not actually walking—Steve is pretty much carrying her along. At least the nausea is gone and she feels grateful for that much. She sighs and wonders what sort of adventure this brave, new world holds.

It took an arduous discussion before she would allow herself to trust Thor. Steve and Bucky joined forces to conduct a lengthy interrogation and made the thunder god vow they wouldn’t end up like Rip Van Winkle. The passage of time on Asgard ought to match, more or less, the passage of time on earth, Thor assured them. Ellie and Henry should not be without their mother for more than a week and Bucky ought to have his tether back in a matter of days. Tethered yet again to his new bestie Rogue, the former Winter Soldier found himself deeply dismayed by the whole situation. Nothing on heaven or earth could have stopped him from following Zaara and Steve but for the children. She knows how much he loves them and she loves that he treats them like his own. There’s no one else she’d rather have care for them. They’ll be safe and loved and that’s all that matters.

But the monumental task that lies ahead comes with a thick cloud of foreboding. As they stand in the opulent, other-worldly rotunda and greet the eagle-eyed Heimdall, Zaara shudders. Steve feels it and grips her even tighter, keeping her firmly on her feet. Preparing herself for the waves of anachronistic speech and wacky customs (not to mention all the capes, helmets, and chainmail), Zaara enters the kingdom of Asgard.

“Welcome, little one,” Heimdall murmurs in an impossibly deep voice. “I have been watching you for a long time.”

Zaara wilts. “Well, that’s a little creepy but, uh, thanks. I guess.”

“I was commanded to keep watch over thee . . .” the guardian of the gods intones, unruffled. “By she who tends the garden.”

“Oh,” Zaara’s mouth freezes in an unwitting “O” while she blinks, trying to shut out the dizzying visions that pour out of  Heimdall's mind. The far-sighted god sees so much her human brain simply cannot tolerate the sensory overload. Sensing her discomfort, Steve gives her a reassuring squeeze.

“I got you, sweetheart,” he whispers in her ear.

“Come,” Thor chuckles, regarding them knowingly. “We have work to do.”

In a realm where everyone dresses like an extra in some Shakespearean play or a refugee from the Renaissance faire, Steve’s military training serves him well. The Captain once again, he refuses to get distracted by the anachronistic surroundings. Nothing matters as much as the mission and, as far as he’s concerned, that’s to keep Zaara safe and by his side. Although he knows he will not be permitted to enter the mysterious garden where she will undertake her task, he plans to wait dutifully outside its walls until Zaara can leave. When Thor proclaimed that no man may enter the sacred place, he imagined it a hot bed of feminine mystery and untold power. The thunder god spoke of it with great reverence and a sprinkling of genuine fear, confessing that even Odin views Freia with trepidation—she who holds the key to life for all the gods. However, Thor reassured him he would be permitted to wait outside the garden walls where family members traditionally abide while Freia's maidens are sequestered to perform their labours.

 _Sequestered. Or imprisoned?_ Zaara had to ask to make damn sure and, reading her thoughts, Bucky shared her suspicions. Even now, something about this bizarre quest doesn’t sit right with her. It’s not Thor. The man is honest to a fault, but he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed. He’s been manipulated in the past and could easily be again. He is too trusting and, unfortunately, a bit naïve even after all that has happened. Always wanting to believe the best in people and, as outrageous as it sounds, in his wayward brother, Zaara fears Loki even though he’s reportedly dead. Still, he fooled Thor before and he could do it again. _They don’t call him the trickster god for nothing._ It doesn’t bode well for any of them. But she has Steve as her insurance policy—not only in terms of this _Primara_ business, but also in the knowledge that he would never abandon her. There’s no question as she gazes into those blue eyes so honest and adoring. _He’d do anything to save me. He’d never leave me behind in that garden. He told me he loves me. And God help me, I love him--even if I can only admit it in a dream._

And so, with footsteps heavy and solemn, the three of them enter the palace.

They are immediately met by a cluster of female attendants who attempt to whisk Zaara away. But Steve won’t be separated from her and so all three head to the dressing chamber together. The handmaidens must prepare them to meet Odin (and for Zaara to meet Freia), and this requires proper attire. Midgardian clothes will simply not do. By now, both Zaara and Steve have noticed that her skin has taken on a peculiar pinkish glow. They’re uncertain as to whether it’s been brought about by a change in the atmosphere, but the Asgardians recognize it immediately and the ladies of the court coo and gush over her, proclaiming her one of the blessed. Indeed, Heimdall had chuckled knowingly and Zaara, having seen only a flash of the omniscient god’s visions, realizes it has something to do with her being a Freia-maiden. Thor made no comment since his eyes detected this strange, subtle light emanating from her body back on earth. Somewhat frightened by the unexpected glow, she gazes anxiously at Steve who gives her a curious smile before planting a tender kiss upon her cheek. “You look beautiful,” he murmurs. “Pink suits you.”

Thor smirks.

The men in the palace keep a respectful distance, though she can sense something unusual happening. Although they remain polite, they seem to be struggling not to stare and, when Thor introduces his warrior friend Fandral, something about him reminds her of Deadbeat Dad chomping at the bit to get at one of the mares. Steve senses something is up and glares at Fandral in a manner both fierce and possessive. It flummoxes her and she wonders at what Thor said earlier. Tournaments, competitions, all the attention she would be getting—it’s not exactly what she’s wanted in her life. A young handmaiden boldly grasps her arm. “My lady, are you not bonded?”

“Bonded?” Zaara repeats, incredulous.

“My lord,” an older lady-in-waiting comes forward, her expression quite perturbed. “Odin will not be pleased to have an unbonded Freia-maiden in the palace.”

“Verily,” Thor agrees and rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Let us make a bond swiftly then, before we enter the throne room.”

“Is this the warrior who would be your _Primara_ , my lady?” she asks Zaara, gesturing at Steve.

“Uh, yup. Guess so,” Zaara replies in a daze, wondering what in the hell they are talking about. Reading the minds around her, she realizes Asgardian bonding involves a ceremony. She’s uncertain as to just what such a ceremony implies, but senses it is not quite marriage—not exactly. Still, it frightens her. She glances at Steve nervously, but he only gazes back with loving eyes that tell her he’ll do whatever it takes. “The . . . bond? It’s not marriage, right?”

“Nay,” the lady shakes her head, laughing kindly. “But Freia’s maidens must be bonded when they leave the garden, lest violence ensue. We Asgardians prefer our warriors battle our enemies rather than each other. Unless you would like us to host a tournament? I’m sure our Prince would gladly arrange one."

“No, no, that won’t be necessary,” Zaara quickly blurts.

“I’ll bond with her,” Steve offers shamelessly, deciding it is high time he spoke up. He earnestly hopes he has mastered some of the lingo. “As her _Primara_.”

“And so it shall be,” Thor smiles grandly. “I will take you to meet Father as soon as it’s done.”

When they enter the dressing suite, the girls whirl Zaara away behind an elaborate screen carved with ancient Asgardian runes. Though it is mostly opaque, the carvings leave patterns of small holes across the silvery metal that allow light to shine through. Meanwhile, Thor sends for clothes to be brought for Steve. He resists chastising his friend for his reluctance to allow Zaara more than a few feet away from him—such possessiveness is not unheard of when it comes to Freia’s maidens. But he turns his mind to other matters. “Steven,” Thor begins. “This shall be your first bonding, is it not so?”

“Uh, yeah,” Steve admits, keeping careful eye on the top of Zaara’s head where it peeks out over the privacy screen. Light pours through the small holes and reveals the shadowy shape of her figure behind the panels. Loathe to let her out of his sight, he briefly glances back at Thor and gives him a forced smile. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.”

Zaara blushes behind the screen.

“She is a rare treasure,” Thor continues softly. “You would do well to stake your claim lest others attempt to do so. But they will not challenge you—not so long as you are bonded. They may wait, or offer to be your _Secondara_.”

“ _Secondara_?” Steve turns to him in genuine surprise. “I thought you called Bucky her _Secondara_?" _Whatever the hell that means,_ he says to himself.

“I did. On Midgard,” Thor nods. “But your shield brother is not here and they have not bonded. Lady Zaara has no _Secondara_. Be prepared, my friend. Warriors are all too eager to bond with a Freia-maiden if only to be her _Secondara_ or even less. Fandral is most eager. It is . . . a rare privilege.”

“A rare privilege?” Steve murmurs numbly as the servants enter with some very odd-looking raiments. To his chagrin, they swiftly start to remove his clothes. No one has dressed him since he was a child and Steve submits to it only with a great deal of discomfort, Zaara giggling softly from behind the screen as she watches him through the small holes. The sight of the smooth, bare muscles of his back compel her to bite her lip. The handmaidens who dress her join in the giggles as well.

“Aye,” Thor nods slowly, fingers tickling his blonde beard in deep thought. “Well, you should be able to keep them at bay with the bond.”

“What about you?” Steve asks, valiantly ignoring the giggles. He regards Thor in a different light while the servants tend to their work. It feels odd to question Thor whom he trusts, but everything feels so different in this alternate dimension and he’s not sure where he stands. Why, a bevy of servants are strapping a sleeveless leather doublet onto his chest while he stands there, half-naked. “Why are all these Asgardians so interested in Freia-maidens?”

“I have my Jane on Midgard,” Thor shrugs as if he’s never given it any thought. “And Father made me promise long ago to keep my distance from what is Freia’s.” The thunder god lowers his voice. “Her powers are mysterious. Odin himself does not fully understand their nature. We depend on her, you see. It would be most unwise to mix the politics at court with the doings of the sacred garden. Freia has her domain and Father has his. It is best the two never meet. There has been a certain enmity between them in the past, you see.”

“And the rest of the men?” Steve asks nervously, trying to get used to wearing a doublet and having the bare muscles of his arms exposed to the air like Thor. “Like Fandral. Why are they so interested in these maidens?”

“Are you not man enough to know?” Thor bursts into laughter, surprising Zaara as she emerges from behind the metal screen. “Behold, my friend. Does she not set a fire upon your loins?”

Steve blushes terribly, knowing it’s true. _Well, at least I don’t have to worry about Thor. That leaves just about every other available man in Asgard. I’ve got my work cut out for me._ When he turns to face Zaara, he gasps.

A shimmering ivory gown bearing a weightless, translucent cape that cascades all the way to the floor meets his eyes and he cannot help think Zaara resembles a fairy princess. Stunned by her beauty, Steve stops breathing for a moment. The bodice is laced with silver thread and reveals more of her décolletage than he’s ever seen before, even in her red bathing suit. It suits her, he thinks, this flowing garment. The pink glow of her skin seems to be amplified by the pearly hues of sparkling fabric and twinkling gems. The maidens quickly sit her down to begin work on her hair. One brings an armful of fresh flowers and they weave the tiny buds in and out of her tresses, the pale pink petals contrasting with wavy, brown tendrils that refuse to be tamed.

Steve straightens himself up and stands taller, tugging on the shoulders of his doublet. He’s surprised they didn’t give him any chainmail, but he supposes he won’t be needing it since he’s not here to do battle. But Zaara’s glowing pink beauty gives him an uncanny sense that she needs his protection in this unknown realm. His heart swells with love for her, this woman who has brought so much to his life. Although he can read the fear on her face, she has never been so lovely. Suddenly, he understands. Men will want her, desire her greatly in Asgard, just as Thor said. Her skin shines with a fruity, pinkish glow and he just knows that she is remarkable, even in a magical place like Asgard. And she needs him now, more than ever. He swallows. _Hopefully, this bonding ceremony will keep her safe,_ he tells himself. Recalling the day he fought Loki, he sighs. _Asgardians sure pack a wallop. And I don’t have my shield._

The bonding ceremony is a brief one. Maidens dance around them in a circle, singing some ancient song in an old Scandinavian tongue while Thor looks on, a smug expression on his face. Steve hears him murmur about it being high time while the girls lace a series of silk ribbons into an elaborate system of knots around his bare wrist. The fabric is so soft it tickles him. His hand, so much larger than Zaara’s, clasps hers gently while the maidens wrap the ribbons over and under and in between their fingers. The winding loops remind him of some ancient rune or perhaps a Celtic knot. When they are finished, Steve and Zaara squeeze hands. Sparks flow between them and he stops breathing again, marveling at their new connection. Love warms his chest and it is as if he can feel her very essence deep in his blood. Zaara’s lip trembles and her cheeks flush even pinker than before. It is, perhaps, the most intimate moment they have shared since waking Bucky from the ice back in Wakanda. Smiling bravely, he gives her hand an extra squeeze before gently releasing his hold on her. The knots undo themselves quite neatly and Zaara and Steve are each left with velveteen ribbons hanging on their wrists like bracelets; all evidence of the bonding. Both know they must wear them for the duration of their stay in Asgard. _Or maybe forever_ , Steve thinks wistfully. Drowning in his love for her, she can tell he wants to kiss her—very badly.

“So will all those men leave me alone now?” Zaara asks Thor bluntly, though she is unable look away from Steve. His eyes are simply shining. She’s never seen him so happy.

Thor smirks. “Any man who looks upon you now shall have a furnace of lust ignite his loins.” He smacks Steve on the back while Zaara tries to stop herself from choking. “It will be Steven’s honour to ward away unwanted suitors. You shall not sully your hand with their blood.”

It takes some time before Zaara can speak again and the light in Steve’s eyes is temporarily replaced by horror. _Furnace of lust. Oh, God_. “You’re sure we’re not married or anything?” she finally manages to ask, wrinkling her nose skeptically at him even while she blushes.

Steve looks stricken as a deer caught in headlights.

“Nay, my lady,” Thor chuckles, ever amused by the innocence of Midgardians. “But Asgardian weddings are joyous affairs and Freia’s maidens are bound to wed their _Primara_ after a bonding. ‘Tis a blessing most sacred. Would you like Father to arrange your nuptials at court? Asgard could use cause for revels these days.”

Zaara has to stop herself from choking again.

Steve finally speaks up, his heart burning. _Marry Zaara. Sounds like a dream._ “Thanks, Thor. But I’d better take her on a date first.”

“A date?” Thor asks, perplexed. “You wish to feed her a piece of fruit?”

“Uh, no,” Steve coughs, torn between his embarrassment and the ecstasy of being bonded with Zaara, even if he can’t fully appreciate what it means _. Sounds like we’re engaged or something._ “It means, uh, taking her out to dinner, or maybe a movie. Spending time together, getting to know each other; we do it on earth a while, before a relationship gets serious.”

“Oh,” Thor mulls it over. “Courtship. Jane and I have not gone on a date--I think. But I have already claimed her.”

Steve is stricken yet again.

“Well, if that’s the sort of relationship you want to have . . .” Zaara cackles, finally freed from her stupor while Steve blushes terribly. Weary of her fears over the bonding ceremony and all its implications (not to mention the surreal knowledge that they have entered an alternate dimension), she is more than ready for some comic relief. And the way Steve gazes at her, such longing and desire in his eyes, doesn’t stop her from being painfully aware of the many other eyes locked upon them. Perhaps a dozen servants and ladies-in-waiting are having rather impure thoughts about what will happen when the two of them finally have the chamber to themselves. _Asgardians sure as hell have no compunction about pre-marital sex_ , Zaara thinks, and tries harder to block their thoughts from her mind.

Finally, both of them attired in formal Asgardian wear, they make their way to the throne room. Steve sticks like glue to Zaara’s side and the pink glow from her skin casts soft reflections upon his own. Everyone stares when they enter Odin’s court. They stop and stand some distance from the throne where sits the King of the gods and Zaara stiffens, her psychic tendrils recoiling in horror.

_My god. That’s not Odin._

_That’s Loki._

She grips Steve’s hand tight, praying her panic goes unnoticed while she scrambles to collect her thoughts. Odin is King of the gods, after all, and maybe people will think it frightens her to be in his presence. But she also feels compelled to tell Thor and Steve what she sees. It’s on the tip of her tongue to reveal the truth when a terrible voice interrupts her train of thought.

_Hold thy tongue, child._

Zaara doesn’t know who said those words but she quickly decides to listen. Someone wants her to keep quiet, warns that she must not let on that she knows it is Loki who sits upon the throne. Still, she is torn.

Odin, or Loki in disguise, intones an elaborate and verbose speech to welcome this wayward Freia-maiden to Asgard. Pronouncing her obligation to heal the sacred garden, Zaara reads Loki’s strong disapproval of her _Primara_. It’s plain as the nose on his face, but not even Loki can undo a bonding; it is an ancient ritual far older than Odin himself.

 _Of course_ , Zaara realizes. _Loki hates Steve. But he probably depends on Freia’s apples, too. All of them do. It’s in his interest to heal the garden. But I wonder what poisoned it in the first place? Loki’s been fooling Thor and everyone else. It won’t be easy to overthrow him. It took an entire team of Avengers to take him down last time and who knows what he has up his sleeve now? What if he planned to bring me here in the first place? And who else could be in on it? I can tell Steve later, in private. Thor, too. We need a plan. If Loki doesn’t know I can read him, then we’ve got one advantage. If I open my mouth too soon, I could ruin everything._

“And who is this you bring before my throne?” the false Odin sneers at Steve. “Mortals are not permitted in the sacred kingdom.”

Zaara only grips Steve tighter, feeling a rush of love for the man who vowed to be her protector. _I’ll play along . . . for now._ “Your Majesty . . . My Lord Odin,” she says quietly. “This is my warrior and my _Primara_. We’ve bonded. We were told Asgard would recognize our bond as sacred.”

Thor nods in approval.

Loki, from behind his disguise, frowns. “So be it. But let it be known only Asgardians shall be permitted to bond with Freia-maidens henceforth. This pairing is a violation and should be undone.”

“Father, are not all bondings beholden to Freia?” Thor protests politely. “You taught me that yourself. It is her due.”

“So be it,” the false Odin growls, and Zaara senses even Loki fears Freia and is more than happy to keep her at arm’s length. “Let Freia dissolve this bond if she sees fit. It is not welcome in Odin’s court.”

“Yes, Father,” Thor nods dutifully, not unfamiliar with Odin’s disdain for mortals.

Zaara doesn’t allow herself to think too much about the strange voice that entered her head moments ago. Though it was deep and sonorous, it also sounded distinctly feminine and something tells her it could not have been Loki. She knows he’s powerful, but she trusts her senses and decides to wait. After all, she’s got a garden to save. Nevertheless, on their way out of the throne room, she cautiously extends her psychic tendrils in a furtive attempt to read Loki’s mind.

_Greed. Entitlement. Adulation. That’s all he wants. What a smug, simplistic creature; like an overgrown toddler with his hand in the cookie jar, pigging out on power. He thinks he’s won. But if power’s all he’s after, he’s gonna hold onto it with everything he’s got. Well, he won’t have it for long. Asgard really does need my help._

Steve breathes a sigh of relief when they finally leave court and Zaara wonders if bruises will appear on her arm from the tightness of his grip. Smiling broadly, she winks at him. “So far so good,” she whispers as they head down the hall. He smiles back and wraps his arm around her shoulders in a gesture both possessive and affectionate. A thrill shoots up and down her spine and she fights the urge to stop and kiss him right there. Biting her lip, she tries not to think of their impending first date, knowing she’ll have trouble keeping her hands off him when the time finally comes. _When we get back to earth_ . . .

The journey to the garden does not take long. Passing through a palace courtyard filled with beautiful arcane statuary and elaborate bubbling fountains, the endless lush gardens eventually dissipate and they reach the outer edge of the grounds. When they finally stand before a wall of sky-high gates that seem to be made of gold, Thor clears his throat. “We have come,” he booms, addressing someone they cannot see.

Zaara hesitates, wondering once again whether she ought to speak up about Loki now that they are far from the palace. The men eye her curiously.

_Not yet, child. Come thou unto me._

“What is it, Zaara?” Steve asks and she has the distinct sense they are being watched. _What was that voice? Could it be Heimdall? Doubtful—it sounds just as feminine as the first time she heard it._ She quickly decides she’d better not speak. Not yet.

“Just nervous,” she shrugs and laughs awkwardly. “That’s an awfully big gate. Are they gonna slam it shut behind me? I can’t help feeling like they’re gonna lock me away.”

“The garden is sacred,” Thor patiently explains for the umpteenth time. “We protect it. The lock is not to keep you in, but to keep others out.”

Pressing her body into Steve’s for comfort, their touch quickly succumbs to a passionate embrace. Steve holds her tight and strokes his hands up and down her back while she buries her face into his chest and surrenders completely to his touch, her fingers gently kneading his firm pectorals where they bulge out from under the padding of his doublet.

“Will you not kiss your maiden?” Thor asks, bemused. “You’ve been bonded. It is only right.”

Steve raises his eyebrows, unused to having an enthusiastic audience. _Thor’s right. If Bucky were here, he’d show no mercy._ But Zaara doesn’t hesitate and presses her lips up to meet his. Their kiss is dizzying, the perfume of flowers from the sacred garden filling their senses and stoking an exquisite desire deep within. Neither of them notice they’ve become enmeshed in a mist of glowing pink. From inside the garden, a bevy of maidens press their faces against the golden bars and giggle.

And with a deep groan, the gates open.

Their lips finally part and Steve pants with an open wet mouth, gazing down at Zaara longingly, pupils wide and dark. _I know . . . somehow I just know we belong together, darling. When we get home, I’m gonna take you on that date. Even if we’re already bonded, I’m gonna do things right_. Finally, he speaks out loud. “I’m staying right here, sweetheart. I won’t leave you—not for a second. Come and see me as soon as you can so I know you’re OK. Alright?” He finds his hands cupping her face, his thumb rubbing back and forth over her thick, bottom lip which is wet from his mouth and he can barely quell a desire which has become amplified in the fecund air of the forbidden garden.

“Okay,” she whispers, fear in her eyes. _Why do I feel like I’m in love? I’m in another universe and all I have now is you. God, Steve. What’s going to happen to us?_ He strokes her jaw and leans closer as she makes a breathless vow. “I’ll come back, Steve. I promise.” She surrenders to another kiss which is long lasting and full of heat. She never wants it to stop. Thor watches them, another smirk on his face. Finally, she releases Steve who refuses to let go first. Trying not to cry, she forces herself to turn from him and pass through the gates. They close firmly behind her the moment she steps inside the garden. Quickly, she turns back to face Steve and notices Thor standing tall and grinning with delight. Steve, however, seems bereft. Grim determination in his eyes, he approaches the gate and clutches the golden bars in his hands. “When we get back to earth, we’re going on that date, right?”

Zaara laughs shyly, glancing nervously at the strange group of unkempt maidens who have come to surround her. “Sure, Bossypants. If you want me to.”

“And how,” Steve murmurs longingly, watching Zaara get swarmed by wild-looking maidens in flowing robes who bask in her pinkish glow. He reddens at the sight of them, some are not fully dressed and his eyes catch a bare breast here, a buttock over there. At the rear of them stands a woman tall and fierce who suddenly grabs his attention. It was she who opened and closed the gates and she stares at him in defiance, giving him a bad feeling in his gut. “Who’s that?” he murmurs, directing his words to Thor.

“That,” Thor replies quietly. “Is Gundhild. She who was once a Valkyrie.”

“A Valkyrie?” Steve asks in disbelief. _Even a boy from Brooklyn’s heard of those dames._ He squints his eyes and notices her skin shares the same pink glow as Zaara’s. The rest of the wild-looking maidens, however, do not glow at all. “Isn’t she supposed to wear a helmet and ride a flying horse?”

“Too true, my friend. This one’s something of a legend, actually,” Thor chuckles discreetly, lest he capture her attention. Indeed, Gundhild still stares hard at Steve, an expression of severe disapproval on her face. When she directs her gaze at Thor, she appears no friendlier. “Once a Valkyrie and one of our greatest warriors, Mother Freia summoned her into service and claimed her as her own. She is the only Freia-maiden who remains unwed, aside from your Zaara. Some say she refuses to lay down the mantle of warrior and so takes it upon herself to guard the gates. For some reason, Freia tolerates her insolence.”

Zaara stares back at them, momentarily distracted by the tall and imposing figure of Gundhild who now stands directly in between them. “I’ll see you soon . . . Bossypants,” Zaara calls just before they dissolve into the greenery.

The feral-seeming maidens coo and cackle at her while she rolls her eyes at their partial nudity. They seem to have no modesty at all and play with her hair and stroke her braids, welcoming her to the garden with full-throated laughter. Their wild ways remind her of maenads from ancient Greece. Disheveled hair, bits of leaves and flowers dangling from their tresses, some of them almost seem to be dancing through the wood. _Hopefully they won’t be tearing me apart in a Bacchanalian_ frenzy, Zaara muses. Not one of them seems capable of simply walking. Instead, they skip and twirl and leap as they take her deeper and deeper into the garden. In moments she finds herself dwarfed by a canopy of towering trees. The giant gate recedes in the distance as they head towards Freia’s abode which lies hidden between a pair of tall green hills. The flora and fauna are beyond beautiful, their colours and perfumes absolutely stunning with jewel-toned hues that appear, of course, otherworldly. _Funny how I couldn’t see all this from outside the gates_ , she marvels. All around her she hears the oddest sort of singing, but it occurs to her that no one actually sings at all. The girls chatter and laugh, but they do not sing. Rather, it is the voice of the plants—the flowers and the shrubs. And the trees. The song is beautiful but sad and full of pain. Zaara can tell many of them are dying or languishing, barely holding onto life. Even so, they are ravishingly lovely.

She has never seen trees like these before. Most of them have glowing, pinkish-red fruits dangling from their branches in a manner both tantalizing and forbidding. Some appear to be apples; others are queer sorts of berries she’s never seen before. It strikes her there is something deeply sacred about them. _Stolen fruit_ , she thinks for a moment, sensing that to make off with a piece and eat it would likely bring death. They harvest it, but not one of them takes a bite for herself, even though it smells simply amazing. No doubt there are certain rules at play in this peculiar garden. Most of the maidens disperse now, returning to their duties of plucking the blessed fruit from the boughs and tucking it into their cloaks or folding it into the bottoms of their long dresses. Zaara wonders why they do not have baskets or something more practical to carry them in, but she is too busy being ushered deeper and deeper into the wood, half-crazed maidens with tangled hair skipping and dancing all around her.

When they finally reach the hills, the two summits somehow merge to become one. Zaara cannot explain how this happens but says nothing as the girls begin the long climb up. The journey is steep for the summit reaches even higher than the topmost branches of the trees which are far more massive than any Zaara’s ever seen on earth. Fruit dangles from on high and her thighs ache like she’s getting a hefty workout on a stairmaster at the gym. But before she can complain, they reach a glittering stone tower half-claimed by nature’s flora and fauna. “What’s this?” she asks the maidens.

“Mother Freia’s dwelling place,” one of them answers earnestly. “Rarely doth she summon us here. ‘Tis a great honour.”

“Okay,” Zaara says skeptically. “Are you coming with me?” She gazes upon the bejeweled door with some trepidation. _Like some sort of creepy witch's castle._

“Oh no, not us,” a maiden smiles. “We must wait here. The All-Mother bids thee come alone.”

Zaara feels weak in the knees. “Okay,” she agrees reluctantly. _I’m in for it now._

The sparkling doorway abruptly opens and two armed shieldmaidens stand at either side. _E_ _nter,_ says the deep feminine voice in her head. Zaara coughs and covers her mouth politely. “Uh, thank you.” But the guards do not reply. “Which way do I go?” she asks stupidly, gazing down a long hallway. The guards try to conceal their smiles. “Alright, I get it,” Zaara murmurs to herself. “Second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning.” She walks down the corridor until she spies a faint blue glow at its end, reminding her of a scene from _The Wizard of Oz_. She wonders if this is all some kind of joke, if she will find an imposter hiding behind a curtain somewhere. But what scares her even more is the possibility that there may be no imposter; that all this is real. And if it is real, she is going to have to deal with it.

The throne room turns out to be an open-air atrium filled with plants and flowers. Not exactly a surprise, she realizes, since Freia is supposed to be some sort of sylvan goddess. The Asgardian sun shines overhead through the partially open ceiling and a lush assortment of flora and fauna drape all around the glittering throne where sits a being basked in light. “Well met, my child,” the figure murmurs in that same voice both terrible and feminine. “Hast done well.”

Zaara prays for her knees to stop wobbling.

“Do not be afraid,” the goddess intones. “Long have I waited for thee.”

 _The dream with Steve on the beach_ , Zaara realizes with a shudder. _That was her. She made herself look like Jean Grey. She threatened Steve’s life._

“Verily hath I claimed the lives of many men,” Freia intones as though she’s reading her mind and laughs in a way that rather frightens her. “Yet I knew thou wouldst defend him even if thou hadst not been woken, had I pushed thee to it. But mine toils have ceased now since thou hast come unto me. For verily hath I summoned thee, my unwilling one. Thou art stubborn, though blessed with abilities unlike mine other children. And so, here we are. Well met.”

“Well met,” Zaara whispers back, not daring believe it true. “Are you Freia, then?”

“Hath many names,” the deep, feminine voice intones behind its mask of light. “Freia is but one. ‘Tis what they call me in this realm, but only when I am myself and not when I am more.”

“This realm,” Zaara repeats in disbelief. “Only when you are yourself and not when you are more . . . Uh-huh. Far out.”

“Aye. Doth borrowed Heimdall’s gift of sight,” the figure continues and the glow around her lowers its intensity just enough so that Zaara’s eyes can gaze upon Freia’s face. It is both beautiful and terrible with wide, curving cheekbones and indigo eyes. Long, flowing hair that seems to be made of light quivers in the air and frames her face, making her visage so dazzling Zaara cannot bear to look upon on it long and must cast her eyes away. “Ever watching, though he knows not what thou art.”

“Why am I here?” Zaara murmurs, her voice trembling. “When can I go home?”

“The holy garden is thine home,” Freia proclaims solemnly. Her words chill Zaara’s blood.

“No,” Zaara denies steadily. “Earth is my home. With my children.”

“Nay,” Freia laughs. “Thou mayest return to Midgard after thine task is done, if it be thy will. And yet, shalt return to the holy garden one day and so remain for all eternity in thine true home.”

“Return?” Zaara chokes, stricken with panic.

“Verily,” the goddess confirms. “When thine earthly tasks art done. Shalt rejoin thy maidens in the blessed realm, both thee and thine. It is as it shall always be. Thine home is here, as is thy daughter’s.”

“My daughter?” Zaara whispers. _Is Ellie a Freia maiden, too?_ “What about my son?”

“Shalt be a warrior for Asgard,” Freia smiles in amusement. “As art all my maidens’ sons. Hast thou not been versed in our ways, child?” Zaara appears so bewildered the goddess takes pity on her. “Speak to thine sisters, child. Shalt explain all. But now thou must undertake our most urgent task that needst be done: heal the holy garden. Thy gifts art needed. And send thy _Primara_ to dispatch Loki who is the reason our fruits die.”

“Loki,” Zaara breathes in wonder. “You knew all along? Why did you let him assume the throne?”

Freia chuckles. “Thou knowst little, child. Our powers art sacred to the holy garden. Odin’s folly hath enabled his wayward son to usurp his throne. Let the warrior do the warrior’s duty. Send thy _Primara_ to perform this task for already hath Princeling Thor been dispatched to worlds unknown.”

“Thor? What happened to Thor?” Zaara panics. “And why did you want me to keep my mouth shut about Loki when Thor could have helped us? How is Steve supposed to stop Loki by himself? He’s only human.”

“Mjolnir abides in Asgard yet,” the goddess intones, nonplussed. “The trees doth show the way. Thy _Primara_ shalt dispatch Loki. So it shall be.”

“The trees . . .” Zaara tries to stop her head from spinning. _The hammer? Is that it? I remember—Steve was able to pick it up, but he faked it in front of the other Avengers. He didn’t let them know he was worthy to be king. But I know he is. Can he stop Loki with Thor’s hammer? Does he even have a prayer?_

“Thou knows little of our ways, my child,” Freia warns, as if she reads Zaara’s mind. “Hela makes ready to enter Asgard.”

“Hela?” Zaara gasps, and a flash of insight bursts through her like lightening even though she can hardly shake Steve from her mind. _The goddess of death? What the hell?_

“She who would be our counterpart,” Freia says knowingly. It chills Zaara, that smile. “Be not afraid, child. Though she doth strive to rule Asgard as queen, her reign shall only bring Ragnarok.”

“Ragnarok? The twilight of the gods?” Zaara whimpers with wide eyes, remembering bits and pieces of old Nordic myths and wishing very badly she had read up on them before coming to Asgard.

“Death cannot be without life,” Freia pronounces with an enigmatic smile.

“But the garden—“ Zaara protests. Already, she feels some deep, protective instinct over the place, even if Asgard is not her world. “Will she destroy it, too?”

“Child, the garden dwells not in Asgard,” Freia sighs. “Her powers cannot touch it.”

 _Not in Asgard? Then where the hell am I? Where is this garden?_ But Zaara only finds herself murmuring a half-forgotten verse out loud. “Death, be not proud, though some have called thee . . . Death, thou shalt die,” she intones with wonder, grateful to have studied poetry as a teenager.

“Verily,” Freia nods. “Hela prepares her way; so we prepare ours. Heal the holy garden, child.”

“Why do you need me? Why can’t you heal it on your own?” Zaara dares to asks.

“Thou art my power,” Freia professes in a terrible voice that makes the ground tremble. It is an admonishment and Zaara immediately regrets her question.

“Got that. Sorry,” she apologizes for her presumption. _I always thought I was born this way for a reason._ Nevertheless, she presses on, her voice tremulous. “But I still have so many questions. Are you the Phoenix? Will it come for me like it did Jean Grey? Will it make me into a monster?”

Freia considers her questions. “Thou art part of the divine song, child. Here, we dwell in the holy garden and create life. Doth sustain life for all of Asgard, from the tiniest child to the greatest of the gods, Odin himself, who hath been dispatched from his throne. This power shall be part of all and in us all—the White Phoenix, it hath also been called. Of the Crown.”

“Not the dark Phoenix?” Zaara whispers, dreading the answer.

Freia narrows her eyes. “The powers of creation and destruction art beyond thy ken, child. ‘Tis the mystery that doth endure and not the explanation.” The goddess purses her lips as if she is quite done with their conversation.

Flummoxed, Zaara grasps her hands together tightly and waits.

“Let the maidens teach thee our ways, child,” Freia finally waves her hand in dismissal. It is the first movement she has made and tiny fragments of light emanate from her palm and fall glittering to the ground. “Tarry no longer. Tend your garden.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Zaara nods submissively, recalling the wild and grubby garden maidens with the crazed-ferret look in their eyes. She wonders if they will have answers for her. Swiftly, she heads outside and tries to shake Freia from her mind. The sight of the goddess was really too much for her to bear and all the strange talk, the non-answers to her many questions, makes Zaara’s head throb. The girls surround her and they take the long pathway down the hill back into the trees. She pays no attention to the dancing and skipping this time, her mind too full.

_Not sure if I actually learned anything from Freia. I almost feel like I know less now than I did before I met her. I’ve got to heal this garden and send Steve to “dispatch” Loki using Thor’s hammer. How in the hell is he going to do that? Asgardians are a hundred times stronger than humans and Steve has no powers, no weapons. I won’t send him to be slaughtered._

But all of a sudden, she remembers Thor. _Freia said he was gone_. Extending her psychic tendrils beyond the garden walls, she attempts to trace his energy signature and knows for certain he has indeed vanished. His hammer lies upon the ground outside the garden walls, forgotten. Indeed, it is such a formidable power source it is actually quite easy for her to detect it. _Magic can’t hide from me here_ , she realizes. Next, she seeks out Steve and, to her shock, finds that she can read his mind. Not knowing why this is so, she wonders if it has to do with being sequestered in what is clearly a magical place. Zaara senses his longing for her and finally encounters the full truth. _He loves me. He really does. I’m all he thinks about, all he wants_. She can see him in her mind’s eye where he sits by the garden wall pining for her, thinking of the kiss they shared just before she left him. He remembers each and every one of her kisses in glorious detail; from the time he taunted her not to kiss him to when she brushed her mouth so lightly over his while he lay prone upon the exam table. His thoughts come to dwell on the kiss they shared the night before they left for Asgard, then back again to their kisses at the garden gates. Dreaming of the many kisses they will share in the future and yearning for her touch, his mind is consumed by longing. And worry.

Zaara bites her lip. _God, I really have been kissing him a lot. I guess that says something._

Vowing to return to him soon, she decides to get to work. But first, she pesters the half-crazed maidens for information. In their strange, archaic way they tell her of the fruit, how apples from the trees and grapes and berries from the shrubs and vines will be mixed together in a sacred ritual to form the gods’ ambrosia. All Asgardians drink of it, though the most rare and auspicious fruits are reserved for the gods who rule in the palace. Each of them depends on it, including Freia herself, though she is the only one with the power to nurture the fruits and encourage them to grow. It’s all quite magical.

“Your _Primara_ is most handsome,” giggles a new girl when they catch sight of Steve waiting down by the front gate. She appears cleaner and fully dressed, unlike than the others. She also happens to shares Zaara’s pink glow. They call her Eira. “No wonder you chose him. But he seems worried for you. When will you marry?”

“Uh . . . do you have to marry your _Primara_?” Zaara asks just below her breath, staring hard at Steve who cannot see her yet. She’s anxious not to involve more maidens in her situation, still worried about what Freia had to say.

“Of course,” Eira seems positively astonished by the question.

Over by the gate, the same tall and imposing woman still stands shooting daggers from her eyes. For a moment, she turns her harsh glare towards Zaara who can only step back, unable to quell the sense of foreboding in her heart. For the first time, Zaara notices a pink glow emanating from the woman’s cheeks and the few patches of bare skin that are not covered by her silver armour. “Oh, don’t worry about her. That’s only Gundhild,” Eira laughs good-naturedly. “She appointed herself guardian of the gates, though we’re not certain whether Mother Freia approves.”

“Guardian of the gates?” Zaara asks, not liking the sound of it.

“Well, the gates only open when the new moon appears,” Eira explains patiently. But giving an afterthought, she frowns. “Gundhild thinks she’s so tough. But we are all equal—in the garden.”

“You mean . . . you mean she won’t open them for me when I want to leave?” Zaara asks in shock.

“Of course not!” the maiden seems aghast. “Our men await the time anxiously. Oh, how they pine for us. ‘Tis a misery most delightful.”

“Delightful . . .” Zaara repeats thoughtfully, but she returns to an earlier idea. “The new moon? Do you mean once a month?”

“Aye,” Eira nods.

“Uh, how close are we to the new moon?” Zaara asks, wilting.

“Twenty-six days more,” she sighs. “Long must I languish without my loves.”

 _Damn you, Thor. Lack of attention to detail. You promised I’d be home within a week. I can’t stick around here for a whole month. I gotta get home._ But Zaara tries not to remind herself that Freia said the garden is her real home.

“Oh, how the lines have grown long,” Eira envisions it fondly in her mind’s eye.

“The lines?” Zaara asks, aghast. Though she can see the image in Eira’s mind, she doesn’t want to believe it.

“Oh, yes! Come look,” Eira smiles happily and leads her towards the far side of the gate. Zaara follows, casting a backwards glance at Steve. She’s not sure where they’re headed and this place is so weird, she is determined to get some answers before putting all her energy into healing the place and leaving herself drained like an empty vessel. They follow the pathway through the trees that runs parallel to the garden wall until the brush parts and opens to a rolling green meadow. Zaara’s eyes widen and her heart clamps up, not wanting to believe it true.

Men.

Miles of men.

Some stand still, some pace back and forth, most of them talk and make idle chatter, but all appear grim or bereft. Like Steve. In fact, they vividly remind Zaara of the expression on Steve’s face when she left him and entered the garden. “They miss their maidens so,” Eira whispers. “They tarry here whilst we labour. Behold--yonder. ‘Tis Aldrik, my Primara. With him is Baard, my Secondara, and Bendikt, Drengmann, Torvald, Einvald, Finnboge, Gjerof, and Hallgrim.”

“Oh,” Zaara replies in shock as she takes in the sight of nine burly, bearded men sporting various sorts of chainmail and horned helmets. They stand together in a line, more or less. “Are all of them waiting for you?”

“Of course they are,” she snorts, somewhat taken aback. “They are my husbands. Pray where else would they be?”

“I dunno,” Zaara replies softly, still shocked and not wishing to offend. “Working or something?”

“Hallgrim usually watches the younglings,” Eira muses fondly. “Shalt be with their tutor at this hour. He should return to them forthwith.”

“Children?” Zaara manages to whisper. “You have children? With . . . with . . .”

“Yes,” Eira smiles proudly. “I have borne eleven.”

Zaara tries not to choke for about the fourth time that day. “Eleven?”

“Aye,” Eira nods enthusiastically and rubs her belly. “Shalt be with child again soon, if it be Freia’s will. Aldrik hopes to father a second son, but in truth I long to bear another with Gjerhof; a daughter most blessed.” She casts her eyes downward and whispers. “He is my favourite, you know.” She looks around before she whispers in Zaara’s ear. “He likes to be ridden slowly.”

Zaara recoils, trying to shut down the graphic images that flood her mind. She has children with all those different men?

“What hast thou so stricken, Lady Zaara?” Eira asks gently.

Zaara glances at her skin. Pink glows there. “We’re both pink.”

“Aye,” Eira agrees. “’Tis the mark of Freia’s maidens. A sign of our power.”

“Why aren’t all these other girls pink like us?” Zaara asks.

“The dryads are Freia’s servants, not her maidens,” Eira explains patiently. “They harvest the sacred fruit, but cannot make it grow. There are only twelve of Freia’s maidens, you know. Well, thirteen now—including thee.”

“Oh,” Zaara shivers, not wanting to contemplate the truth Eira presents to her. “Where are the rest of the, uh, pink girls?”

“Oh, the holy garden is vast. You have only seen a speck of it,” her new friend explains. “Shalt meet all of Mother Freia’s maidens soon, but they work across the four quadrants and dare not spread their powers too thinly whilst the trees languish. But we all gather in the evenings for revels and to bid our husbands goodnight.”

Once again, Zaara takes note of the many men and does a swift head count. _A dozen Freia-maidens and . . . over sixty men waiting for them. Oh my god. Or, should I say, oh my goddess?_ “Are those the . . . other husbands?”

“Aye,” Eira nods. “Some have more than I; others less. You and Gundhild are the only ones unwed. ‘Tis a sacrilege, you know, to let the holy power go to waste.”

“A sacrilege,” Zaara repeats, as if destined to be in a state of continuous stupor while in Asgard. _But Freia said the garden isn’t actually in Asgard at all. Weirder and weirder._ Still, she fights to retain her grip on reality. “You know where I come from, it’s pretty much sacrilege to have more than one husband at a time.”

Eira bursts into laughter. “Truly? Midgard must be _such_ a funny place. How _would_ they manage to care for the children with only one father?”

Taken aback, Zaara can only stare at her with disbelief.

“Verily, Freia’s maidens possess the power most sacred,” Eira speaks again when her fit of giggles finally subsides. “Art obliged to heal and grow. There is no stopping it. Every child is a blessing and each husband longs to sire another Freia-maiden to keep the holy garden. Freia’s maidens must bring forth a child every fourth year—at the very least. ‘Tis only natural. When the time is ripe, we beget a son or, more rarely, a daughter. ‘Tis an event of great jubilation in Asgard. All of us rejoice at a birth.”

“Um . . .” Zaara murmurs, trying to sort through the jumble of thoughts in her head. _A child every four years? Nine husbands? What the hell?_ “Eira . . . Do I have to have nine husbands?”

“You are very beautiful,” Eira looks her up and down thoughtfully. “T’would be difficult to keep them from you, you know. Your _Primara_ shall have his hands full. At the very least, a maiden needs must have a _Secondara_ to assist her _Primara_ , though I have never known a maiden to be content with only two. Even Agathe has four, and she the fewest of all.”

“A _Secondara_ ,” Zaara repeats, feeling like she’s in some strange, other-worldly kindergarten. Suddenly, she recalls Thor asking if Bucky was her _Secondara_. _God, I miss Bucky. What would he say about all this? He’d call them a bunch of nut jobs, that’s what._ “And Agathe has four. _Only_ four?”

“The fewest of all,” Eira confirms earnestly. “But a _Primara_ and _Secondara_ are the very least a Freia-maiden requires to nourish her bower and tend her brood. The power is most sacred. It will not be denied.”

Suddenly, Zaara feels very small. She takes a deep breath and her voice is quieter still. “Can’t I just have one man, like they do on earth? Or even none at all? I don’t need a man to look after my children or do anything for me, by the way; I can take care of myself. I’m already a single parent. What would I want with more than one man?”

Chuckling, Eira struggles to get a hold of herself. “Are you not woman enough to know?”

Biting her lip, Zaara blushes terribly. Remembering both Steve and Bucky, the way each of them makes her feel so loved and cherished, the way they look after the children as if it is the best job in the world, not to mention how they both love to sleep on either side of her at night, she has to admit there is something to what Eira says. A sharp thrill runs up and down her spine, but she valiantly ignores it and shakes her head in denial.

“I think you know of what I speak,” Eira adds gently. “You do love another. Don’t you?”

“I can care about more than one person at a time,” Zaara replies defensively. “Doesn’t mean I have to marry them or make babies with them.” Suddenly, she remembers Matt Murdock, the feelings that always flow through her whenever they’re together. _Warriors_. “Warriors,” she says out loud, the truth hitting her like a rushing river.

“Indeed,” Eira agrees, sighing wantonly. “We only mate with warriors. ‘Tis how our Mother made us.”

“I already have two children,” Zaara adds, perplexed. “Without fathers.”

Eira nods solemnly. “I have heard of such things before. The unwilling—like you. ‘Tis rare, but by hook or by crook, Freia’s potency manifests and so begets our young. You may deny her power, but it shall have you; shalt be channeled whether you wouldst or no. ‘Tis our sacred duty to tend the garden and our brood. Anything less is sacrilege. Are there no warriors on Midgard? What of your _Primara_? You should marry swiftly. ‘Tis the only thing to do.”

“What about Gundhild?” Zaara asks anxiously, changing the subject for her heart still longs to have some say over her fate. _If that Valkyrie doesn’t have to marry anyone, then neither do I. No one forces me to do anything, whether it’s to marry one man or two or even nine._ “On Midgard, women don’t have to marry anyone. No one can make us. We have a choice.”

“Gundhild’s power spends itself in vain,” Eira shakes her head regretfully. “It is folly. By some strange twist of fate, she was sundered from her destiny to be a Valkyrie. Glory in battle was all she sought and she detests being one of us. It brings her such woe. Mother Freia has been most patient since Gundhild took refuge in the holy garden to avoid her many suitors. She never leaves and they cannot follow. She fancies herself our guard when we need no such thing. Not here. But the fruits would not languish so if she would only lend her hand. But she’ll do no such thing. ‘Tis sacrilege most foul.”

“She sure doesn’t look happy to me,” Zaara agrees. But inside, she feels for Gundhild. _I got you, girl. You just want to live your life and do your thing and all these people want you to get married, lock you up in a garden, and have you squeeze out a dozen babies._ Nevertheless, her heart returns to Steve and she sees him in her mind’s eye sitting alone by the gate, waiting for her. Longing for her.

_And you long equally for him._

The voice in her head startles her once again. Though she recognizes it now to be Freia, if Freia is the Phoenix or some part of the Phoenix ( _What is the White Phoenix?_ she wonders), Zaara realizes she is dealing with a goddess of untold power and would do well to pay her mind.

“Come,” Eira grasps her by the arm. “Let us heal our garden. Once you are fully spent, you may meet your _Primara_. Go to him under the lilac tree. ‘Tis a hallowed tradition for our kind to meet their loves in its shade when they first abide in the garden.”

Healing is one of Zaara’s most mysterious powers, though she has never used it on plants before. While they have responded to her in the past by blooming and blossoming and even making new plants (she tries to forget about the flower babies she apparently made with the space alien tree creature called Groot), she feels uncertain as to whether she will be able to help. Closing her eyes, she extends her psychic tendrils outward and in all directions, reading the general health of the garden. Immediately, she can sense the plants are ailing, particularly the trees—just as their song told her when she first entered the garden. While some appear healthy on the surface, many are dying inside. The fruit is souring and much of it lies rotting upon the ground. She watches the gatherers for a moment—the healthier trees offer their fruit in what seems to be a neat and harmonious manner, depositing it gently into the waiting arms of a dryad who stands by waiting to catch it. But a great deal of the fruit is overripe and falls from the vines and trees too rapidly, slamming down hard upon the earth.

Zaara follows Eira who takes them deeper into the garden and into the western quadrant, a throng of dryads in their wake. Her new friend is astonished that Zaara can hear the song of the trees. Their pain envelopes her mind and she extends her arms outward, opening her palms and releasing the energy that dwells deep inside. It flows and channels itself through their branches like a healing balm and the plants, shrubs, and tall perennials gradually start to change their song. Some even burst forth with flowers, an expression of joy so remarkable that even Eira stops. “My,” the Freia-maiden gasps. “Well met, Lady Zaara.”

“Uh, thanks,” Zaara smiles back, arms still reaching out. “I feel like I was born to do this. I don’t know why.”

“Verily,” Eira nods back. “But lo, I must to the Eastern Quadrant and attend. The dryads will bring you to the lilac tree at eventide.”

“Okay,” Zaara agrees, hoping she won’t collapse by then. Sending out tremendous amounts of energy to the threes, she is startled to feel something small and slippery land softly between her breasts. It seems to nestle deep down in her bodice.

“Oh, thou hast been blessed!” Eira laughs while the dryads dance and trill their tongues in a strangely feral sort of cheer.

“Huh?” Zaara glances down and gingerly touches the object. It is a ripe, sweet-smelling pink fruit that glows softly. Its scent is wildly tantalizing.

“Aye,” Eira nods wisely. “A gift of thanks. It shall go into no one’s apron. Do with it what you will.”

“OK, sure,” Zaara shrugs. “But wait—it’s not stolen then? I have a funny feeling I should never steal fruit from this garden.”

“Verily,” Eira confirms. “To steal fruit from the holy garden is to court death. But you have been blessed. This morsel is yours—the tree gifted it unto you. Do with it what you will. It happens rarely, this sort of thing. ‘Tis meant to be.”

Zaara nods back wordlessly. The spongy berry nestles in her bosom so softly and delicately, it makes her loathe to move it. There is literally nowhere else for her to keep it in this pocketless princess gown, anyways. In fact, she comes to forget it’s even there while she goes about her day healing the garden. By evening, she is surprised to notice that she feels no hunger though she has not eaten for an entire day and passed through the whole of the western quadrant which is now, for the most part, completely healed. Though she will have to check on it tomorrow and ensure that the effects will be long-lasting, she feels quite certain of her success.

_Well done, child. Well done._

_Thank you_ , Zaara replies, remembering that Freia claimed her powers were part of the greater whole. It surprises her, this new sense of purpose and, as a mutant, it feels wonderful and unexpected to find another place where she belongs. But as always, her thoughts return to Steve (for it is easier to think of him than her children or even Bucky, whom she misses with a terrible grief). Now that the day is done, she wants nothing more than to see Steve and to touch him again. She doesn’t even care one whit about this _Primara_ business or the fact that Eira thinks she ought to have twelve husbands, telling herself none of that matters. All she wants is Steve, and that is enough of a revelation for a class five mutant who doesn’t date. _If what Eira and Freia said is true, then maybe Steve and I are meant to be together. The Phoenix won’t come and turn me into some killing machine after all. I’m supposed to be with a warrior and have lots of babies. Yikes. Can’t think about that too much_. Indeed, her eagerness to see Steve again outweighs her anxiety as Zaara follows the dancing dryads back towards the gates.

Under the boughs of the lilac tree and not very far from where dozens of warriors gather to greet their Freia-maidens stands Steve. He is making a most valiant attempt to avert his eyes from the rather public displays of affection down in the meadow. Catching her breath, Zaara quickly realizes what is going on. It appears that the maidens and their warriors are kissing, stroking and engaging in all sorts of groping, even with  the golden bars of the garden wall in between them. A few of the glowing pink maidens moan rather obscenely while the men rain affection down upon them. _It’s like some kinky Renaissance orgy_ , Zaara thinks, catching a brief glance out the corner of her eye. She blinks, still so confused by Asgardian ways. _No one prepared me for this._ But Steve stands waiting for her under the tree so she pushes it from her mind. “Steve? You made it to the tree! How did you get here?” Zaara cries as she runs to him.

“Uh, one of the men came and asked if I’m a _Primara_ ,” he explains with some discomfort. Still, he cannot quell the spark of excitement at seeing her again. The two of them grasp hands between the golden bars and Zaara brings her body closer, raising her lips to his. Blushing at the open invitation, he hesitates a moment, then kisses her sweetly. He lets his lips linger close to hers as he finishes his answer. “Said I should meet you under the lilac tree. Some sort of tradition. I was worried you wouldn’t come.”

“Of course I’d come,” she laughs. This is the best she’s felt all day. Steve is like some kind of drug to her now in the midst of this crazy, magical garden. He’s the one thing she can hold onto with her very own hands, her only remnant of home. There is nothing else. “You’re all I got until we can go home.” His blush deepens and he reaches his arms all the way through the bars now to pull her body even closer. “I can read your mind now, you know,” Zaara whispers. She doesn’t know why she tells him this; perhaps he’d think her dishonest if she didn’t.

“Can you?” he murmurs, his voice deep and sexy. What she sees in his mind bowls her over and she knows for certain that things are getting very serious between them indeed. Once she’s Steve’s, he will never let her go, Phoenix or no Phoenix. It makes her head spin for she’s not sure just how much her destiny has actually changed. If Freia is the Phoenix or some part of the Phoenix force, then she is apparently not the dark, destructive Phoenix that claimed Jean Grey. Freia said something about a White Phoenix, but Zaara has no clue what that is and Freia told her she wouldn’t understand anyways. “Sweetheart,” Steve tenderly interrupts her thoughts, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “You alright? They treating you well in there? You look worried.”

She glances down, but he only lifts her chin back up. Meeting his eyes, she sighs in resignation. “I saw Freia.”

“Freia?” For some reason, it hits him hard. “What did she tell you? Did she explain everything?”

“Sort of,” Zaara shrugs. “Not everything. But some. And since you’re my warrior, my _Primara_ , she says it's your duty to dispatch Loki.”

“Dispatch Loki?” Steve is taken aback. “I thought Thor said he was dead.”

Suddenly, Zaara is stricken with fear. Since being in the garden somehow allows her to read Steve’s mind, she decides to speak to him telepathically, hoping desperately he will hear her. _He’s not dead, Steve. He’s sitting on the throne right now, disguised as Odin. Can you hear me?_

_I can, sweetheart. You’re talking in my mind, aren’t you? Like you do with Bucky. Right?_

_Oh, Steve. There’s so much I want to tell you, so much I don’t understand. This garden—it’s so strange. I don’t know why it lets me read you, but since I can, let’s keep it a secret. You never know if Loki’s listening. Loki hurt the garden. Damaged it. And there’s more—Hela, the goddess of death is coming. She’s supposed to bring Ragnarok—the destruction of all of Asgard. There’s some serious stuff going down, but my job is only to heal the garden. Yours is to get rid of Loki. Right now, he’s got everybody fooled—except Freia. She said it was your duty to dispatch him. You—of all people._ Zaara resists rolling her eyes. It feels so unfair.

_Darling, I’d fight anyone for you. But Loki packs a wallop. He’s a hell of a lot stronger than me. And he has all that magic, too. But Thor will help. He just left a little while ago, but he’ll come back._

_No, he won’t. Thor’s gone, disappeared somewhere. I don’t know how—but Freia told me. You’re on your own_. She feels his heart sink. _But Steve, he left his hammer behind. You can fight Loki with it. I know you can pick it up; I saw it when I read your mind back in Wakanda. You didn’t want anyone to know the truth. You are worthy._

Lowering his eyes modestly, Steve protests. Without Thor? _Do you think the hammer would be enough to beat Loki? I’m not sure about that. But I’ll try—if you want me to_.

Now that she can read his mind, Zaara sighs patiently and takes a moment to drink in all the goodness and strength in the man she’s come to love. Remembering the mad, exhilarating rush when she first read his mind back in Wakanda, she smiles to herself. It’s little wonder that Bucky adores him so—and that she’s fallen for him. _Wait, Steve. I just remembered something. It’s the fruit from this garden that gives Asgardians their strength. One of the trees gave me a berry. They called it a gift. A blessing. They said it was mine, to use as I wanted—and I want to give it to you._

 _To me?_ Steve raises his eyebrows in surprise, blushing as Zaara tilts her bosom upward to display the fuschia pink fruit to him.

_Yes. You need it. They have an unfair advantage, these Asgardians. Their strength, their long life; maybe that’s what Freia meant, after all. Maybe that’s why I should give this to you. I don’t blame you for balking, though. A woman giving a man a piece of fruit from a magic garden would give anyone pause._

_Sweetheart, I trust you. If you can read my mind, you know I’d do anything for you. And those kids._

_Ellie_ , she sighs to herself. _And Henry. God, I miss them so much. Bucky, too. I’m lost without them._

 _Me too, darling. Can’t wait to get back to them again. They’re the best kids in the world. And I sure miss Bucky; could really use his help right now. Still, I gotta admit_ , he wraps his arms around her tighter. _I kind of enjoy having you all to myself._ He bites his lip at his confession, trying to stop his ears from catching the many immodest sighs and groans from just over the way. It’s easy to avert his eyes but he can’t exactly turn off his ears. The sounds invade his consciousness and leave him with some painfully immodest thoughts. He has no doubt Zaara can read them now.

 _Not sure how much you actually have me to yourself in this place, Steve_. She glances _around warily. The other Freia-maidens seem to be fornicating wildly by now through the darkened gate, their antics lit by candlelight, naughty dryads dancing around them with glee. Geez. This is so embarrassing,_ Zaara cringes.

 _It is,_ Steve wholeheartedly agrees. _I can’t believe it._

 _Neither can I_ , she admits. _Freia-maidens have a really weird culture. I can’t even pretend to understand it._

 _Well, even if you are a Freia maiden and I’m, uh, your Primara, I would never do those things to you_ , he tells her earnestly.

 _Oh_ , Zaara’s eyes widen in mock horror while she gestures towards the scathing activities happening down in the meadow. _You mean you would never kiss me or touch me like that, Captain?_

 _Never in front of all those people. Or anyone else._ Steve chuckles out loud.

 _Well, then,_ Zaara smirks. _Does that mean you would do those things if there wasn’t anyone else around?_

 _You can read my mind now, doll. You know how I feel about you._ It takes everything Steve has to hold her gaze. She knows his truth now and he’s not about to run away. He’s so tired of waiting.

Zaara shivers.

Deciding to put off their plans until morning, they spend a wild and raucous-sounding night huddling together, the bars of the garden wall a barrier between them. Somehow the weather feels perfect, neither too hot nor too cold. The grass is soft and the purple blossoms of the lilac tree grant them a soothing canopy that blocks out not only the twinkling light of the Asgardian stars, but the ruckus that continues over in the meadow where the other Freia-maidens cavort with their men. Steve wraps his arms around her all the night long, tucking his chin between her neck and her shoulder and they lean into each other, shifting position every now and then to accommodate the bars. It feels warm and surprisingly intimate this, the closest, most unabashedly physical night they have shared. Zaara can’t stop herself from wondering what might happen if the golden bars were to magically disappear and there was nothing left to keep them apart. It doesn’t take much; she can see it all in Steve’s head. All the things he wants to do to her unfold in her mind’s eye like some hot and steamy fantasy. He knows it, too, and accepts it. He has nothing to hide anymore.

To her surprise, the fuschia berry still rests in her bosom come morning. _Oh, crap. He forgot to eat it. Better do it soon as he wakes_. But Steve has been awake an hour already, watching Zaara sleep in his arms. He can see the berry resting between her breasts and does not dare pluck it out; not without her permission. Besides, she’s beautiful as a picture and he hates to disturb her. Somehow, he’s happiest when she rests like this, in his arms. It calms him, makes him feel in control, like everything’s right with the universe. As he looks down at her, her face twitching as she nears consciousness, he thinks of the children for the hundredth time. And Bucky. Zaara’s peaceful countenance makes him believe they are alright. They are safe and loved and he will see them again soon. He is certain of this, as long as he’s holding Zaara in his arms.

“Hey,” she smiles sleepily at him now, having just opened her eyes.

“Good morning, sweetheart. You hungry?” he asks, noting his own empty stomach.

“Not in the slightest,” she muses, taking in his handsome face. If she could wake up every morning like this, gazing up at that face, she’d be one happy woman. “It’s something strange about the garden. I didn’t eat at all yesterday.”

“Neither did I,” he confesses, though he can withstand hunger for much longer than that. Still, it’s getting rather unpleasant for him.

“Well, then,” she smiles. “Eat.” And her cheeks swiftly turn pink, amplified by her bodily glow.

Steve swallows, feeling a different sort of hunger now. He’s only ever felt those soft breasts press against his chest through the barrier of clothing. Not believing his own boldness, he lowers his face down towards her bosom. He can see more of her than he ever has before, even more than in her red bathing suit. The sight of Zaara’s beauty is almost too much for him to bear and he has to blink his eyes shut a few times until his mouth hovers between her breasts, his tongue only inches away from the blessed fruit while Zaara giggles to feel his breath hot against her skin, a welcome contrast to the coolness of the golden bars. Somehow, she arches her back even more so he can get close enough to open his mouth and grasp the fruit between his lips. She shivers. He feels so hot and wet and an exquisitely painful yearning floods her body. “Mmmm . . .” she groans softly. Biting her lip, she gets a hold of herself. “The fruit, Steve. You forgot to eat it last night. No wonder you’re hungry,” she adds in a quivering voice, trying to make light of it.

Steve smiles, chewing the soft, ripened berry carefully. For a flash of a second Zaara catches sight of its tender red flesh between his teeth as he rolls it around in his mouth, sucking on it slowly. Its taste is beyond devastating. It fills him entirely and his hunger vanishes away, though he cannot help but notice it left a few splotches of pink nectar over the swell of her breasts. He swallows the last morsel. “I think that was the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“Was it, Captain?” she laughs lightly. Flirtatiously. Following his gaze, she glances down and notices the stains in dismay. “Oh . . . That’s not good.”

“No. No, it isn’t,” he agrees, a wild light in his eyes. “Want me to take care of it?”

“Yeah.” She finds herself sighing languorously.

“You sure?” he asks, not daring to hope for he’s reached the end of his rope. _Doll, this is your last chance to say no. Can barely stop myself as it is. Say yes. Please._

“Uh huh,” she agrees, sucking in her lips. “Go ahead.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmurs eagerly and lowers his face to her breasts once more while she arches her back and presses them between the bars. He heaves a huge breath and her bosom quivers while he kisses away the stains. Her breasts are the softest things he’s ever tasted in his life and it feels like he’s in paradise. “All done,” he finally pronounces, his voice raspy.

“Thanks,” she breathes shyly, not daring to look at him.

“My pleasure,” he replies darkly and it makes her raise her eyes. His eyes, so wanton and hungry, meet hers back. “You know I love you, Zaara. Beyond all this.”

“I do,” she nods solemnly, her heart suddenly aching. Reaching her hands through the bars, she places her palms upon his cheeks. _Promise me you’ll be safe today. I don’t know what that berry’s gonna do for you, but I hate sending you into danger. Why didn’t Freia let me tell you about Loki before, when we had Thor to help?_

 _You knew it was Loki when we first saw him?_ Steve grunts unhappily.

“Yeah,” she admits, dropping her hands to his powerful shoulders. Regretfully, she strokes his leather doublet, trying not to get distracted by his bare, muscular arms. _Freia spoke in my mind and asked me not to tell. Honestly, Steve, I was so freaked out I listened to her. I was scared. You know how tricky he is; I thought keeping it a secret made the best sense._

“Do you trust Freia?”

Zaara hems. “Well . . . yes. I can’t explain why. I just know, Steve. I think she’s more involved with her garden than anything else; she told me all kinds of weird things about it.” Playing with the silky ribbons still tied about his wrist, she lowers her gaze.

“Like what?” he asks with genuine interest.

“Well, she said it’s not actually in Asgard. Isn’t that odd?” she shrugs.

“Hmmm . . .” Steve mulls it over. Suddenly, he moves his hand away from her, pulling it outside of the bars. “Asgard is a different dimension. Or a realm, like Thor said. So why couldn’t the garden be in a different realm than Asgard? Even if we didn’t fly up a rainbow bridge to get to it, you had to pass through these gates.”

“Men can’t, though,” Zaara adds, casting a glance down the hill where the maidens and warriors rest. “But you’ve sure been sticking your body parts through it—not as much as those guys down in the meadow over there.”

Steve blushes heavily.

“Well, Captain,” she chuckles, though she hates to dismiss him. _I’ve got a garden to heal._

_And I’ve got an imposter to dispatch._

Steve helps her up to her feet until they stand face to face, the bars in between them. Over in the meadow, the crowds of men and their few and fair Freia-maidens kiss each other farewell for the day. Steve watches it out the corner of his eye without turning his face from Zaara. Standing on her tippy-toes, Zaara plants a swift kiss over his lips. “Call it, Steve.” _You know what I mean. Call the hammer. It’ll come._

Bewildered, Steve reaches out his hand.

Nothing happens.

“You have to say it out loud, Bossypants,” Zaara grins.

Sighing, Steve shuts his eyes tight and stands just a little taller. Doing his best imitation of Thor, he stretches out an arm. “Hammer!” he shouts and in moments, the massive square mallet sails through the air and seals itself firmly in his waiting hand.

“Steve,” Zaara whispers in disbelief. “You did it. You actually did it.”

He stares at her in adoration and barely gives the magical hammer one jot of his attention. With his free hand, he reaches through the bars and caresses her cheek. “Only for you, sweetheart.”

_And for Asgard, I hope. They need you._

_Of course, darling. I should head out._

_Want me to send some men with you? You could use a few soldiers._

_Did Freia tell you to?_ He looks doubtful.

  _How can you do this all alone?_ she asks fearfully.

 _I’m not alone_ , he smiles and glances over at Mjolnir. _If I lay this hammer down on him, he ain’t getting back up. I’ve seen how it works. Besides, if anyone else finds out, we’d lose the element of surprise. Loki won’t see me coming; I’d like to keep it that way. And that fruit, well . . . I feel stronger. I’m not sure how, but I’m different. You have to trust me on this_.

“You’re right Captain,” she sighs audibly. “I trust you. Go and do your thing. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Wild horses couldn’t drag me away,” Steve leans down to give her a good, deep kiss. He lets his mind wander brazenly. _Can’t wait to get you out of this garden, darling. Get you all to myself._

 _Oh yeah?_ She wonders at him, breathless. _Now why is that, soldier?_

Sighing, he reins himself in. _Soon as we’re home, I’m taking you on that date. And don’t you forget it._

She smiles shyly. “All I want is to go home. I want to see Ellie and Henry again. And Bucky. I miss them so much.” Shaking her head, she laughs. “Can you imagine what Bucky would say about this place? Wait’ll I tell him all about the dryads.”

“Those girls with the twigs in their hair?” Steve chuckles as he saunters away. “He’d yell at them to take a bath.”

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Not bothering to conceal Mjolnir, Steve returns to the palace. No one stands in his way. The guards part their spears and grant him entrance to each and every corridor and passageway. They look askance at him and some of the handmaidens call as he passes them by.

He says nothing.

When he reaches the throne room, the courtiers gasp.

Loki trembles where he sits upon Odin’s throne.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Steve uses his newfound strength to hurl the hammer straight at the imposter’s heart. There is no time for Loki to react, no speed with which he can avoid it. The blow is harder and faster than any Steve has ever made before and he marvels at his own strength. _Definitely the fruit. So, this is what it feels like to be Thor._ The hammer pins Loki’s body to the floor and the face of Odin gradually fades to reveal the shocked visage of the trickster god.

The courtiers gasp, but Steve still says nothing. Turning around, he swiftly exits the palace and heads straight for the garden, ignoring all pleas and entreaties to stay and explain what has happened.

He has only one thing on his mind.

_Zaara._

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Zaara is exhausted.

Working at a frenzied pace, she passes through all four quadrants of the garden, healing every tree and shrub that ails. By evening, her work is finally done. Having checked first on the Western quadrant, she’s certain the effects will be long-lasting. The other Freia-maidens circle round, hemming in and reinforcing her healing magic. _I don’t want to call it magic. I’ve only ever known it as my mutant powers._ But to her dismay, her other mutant powers have no effect in the garden, aside from telepathy. Although she finds it curious, she has the distinct sense that her telepathy is somehow linked to her ability to hear the garden’s song and know its pain. If the garden really is in another realm, then perhaps mutants have no muster in it. Though it’s frustrating, she knows she is safe in the garden and doesn’t need telekinesis or teleportation or any other power to defend herself against anything.

_‘Tis the mystery that doth endure, and not the explanation._

She’s also uncertain as to why she seems to be the only one able to heal the trees. The other maidens can only feed them and encourage them to grow. But it doesn’t matter; she feels grateful for it—there’s something deeply satisfying about healing the sick, even if they are only trees and shrubs. The few times she’s been able to heal people back on earth, she’d never experienced anything so gratifying. But her healing powers on earth had been limited. Unpredictable. They worked best on enhanced people and often there was little she could do for ordinary humans. It felt like a miracle when she’d been able to jumpstart Rhodie’s healing. Finding herself wondering about him and how he’s been doing, she longs yet again to return home to her children and her friends. And, most emphatically, to Bucky. Her time in the garden has made her look upon the former Winter Soldier a bit differently—though he will always be Bucky to her, perhaps the most tender man she has ever met, a man who knows her deepest pain in a way no one else ever could. But her heart also burns at the thought of Steve, all the unknown and exciting places their new relationship might take her.

_My Primara._

It frightens her, actually, nearly as much as it excites her. Already she dreams of his body, of all the ways he longs to lavish affection upon her. Spending the night with him, letting him hold her from outside the golden bars, was something of an exercise in sexual frustration. Though she still fears the Phoenix, her time in the garden has helped make her peace with it. _This power is healing; it’s anything but destructive. It’s like the Professor said a long time ago—two sides of the same coin. The dark Phoenix in all its power destroyed life. The white Phoenix Freia talks about seems to do the opposite. Death cannot be without life—and making life seems to be what this garden is all about. But I’d better stop worrying my head over it. She warned me; it’s too much. This is bigger than any of us. Oh, god; what’ll it be like if Steve and I really do get together?_ She tries not to entertain the thought for it seems far too tantalizing. Instead, she goes about her way, confident her healing efforts have done the job. _Now there’s only one problem—leaving. I had a hunch they would try to lock me up in here_.

 _The holy garden doth not imprison anyone._ The voice interrupts her thoughts yet again _._

 _Freia,_ Zaara says to herself. _Why won't you let me leave? Why are we locked in?_

_It is not I who locks you in, child._

_Then who's responsible?_ Zaara asks.

_Look to the unwilling one._

_Gundhild?_ Zaara asks, puzzled. _I thought she appointed herself the gatekeeper._

_Indeed._

Zaara swallows. _Shit. That means she took it upon herself._ Harnessing her anger, Zaara bursts into a run and a wild crowd of dirty dryads follow, laughing and dancing in her wake. All too soon, she reaches the front gate. She can see Steve standing by it, watching. He isn’t holding Mjolnir, but he looks proud and triumphant. _You did it, Steve._ Her heart practically bursts. But before she can go to him, Gundhild blocks her way. It only takes a couple of steps for the former Valkyrie to intercept since she is about six and a half feet tall. Zaara gazes up at her, trying not to crick her neck. “Uh, excuse me.”

“You will meet your _Primara_ in the meadow like the rest,” the humourless Valkyrie frowns. “No exceptions. Gundhild tolerates no affection here.”

 _Them’s fightin’ words_ , Zaara thinks but she only clenches her fists. “Excuse me,” she says again and attempts to go around her, but the massive woman only swerves and blocks her access. “Seriously?” Zaara puts her hands on her hips, incredulous.

“Leave,” Gundhild snarls. “These gates are my domain.”

Crinkling her brow, Zaara finally reads her stubborn mind. Gundhild will not relent and, as Freia hinted, her rules regarding the comings and goings of the garden are, for the most part, arbitrary. Men are never permitted within the gates, that is Freia’s law, but as for only releasing the maidens once every new moon, that is, in fact, Gundhild’s decision and not Freia’s at all. “You . . . you’re jealous,” Zaara finds herself saying. “You’re keeping these families apart because of your own bitterness!”

“Say that again, wench!” Gundhild brandishes a broken branch. It may be the only part of the garden her hands have ever touched.

Zaara concentrates and tries to learn more, but there’s not a lot. Gundhild is a Freia maiden just like the others. Her skin glows pink with the powers of fertility and growth, though she has never used them. Instead, she has squandered them, supposedly guarding the gates whilst the other Freia maidens labour in the garden. Zaara wonders why Freia would ever tolerate it.

_She needs to learn, my child. Thou shalt teach her._

Zaara furrows her brow. _And what could I possibly teach her?_

_Shalt learn, child._

Sighing, Zaara backs away. Unless she wants to engage a Valkyrie in hand-to-hand combat, she’ll have to come back later. Earnestly hoping Steve will have a plan, she waves at him and he smiles. Joyfully, she dashes down past the garden wall as far from Gundhild as she can manage where he meets her. Giving her a quick, breathy kiss through the bars, his expression turns into a curious mixture of shyness and pride. “Loki’s down,” he murmurs, eyes drowning in passion for her.

“I know,” she grins back, her jubilant smile lighting up the evening sky even though her heart is heavy. “But we’re stuck back at the lilac tree tonight. Gundhild won’t let us meet here.” She casts a foreboding glance at the former Valkyrie. Steve follows as she heads down the hill, their fingers touching through the bars while they walk. It reminds Zaara of when she was a child; how she would have run the length of the garden walls, her fingertips thrumming against the golden bars the whole way. When they finally stand under the perfumed blossoms of the lilac tree, they embrace.

“It’s good to be back here,” he confesses, a dash of vulnerability in his voice. “I hated leaving you.”

“It’s alright, Steve,” she runs her thumb over his cheek, giving in to her constant urge to touch him. “Freia wanted it this way. I trust her. I don’t know why, but I do. I healed the whole damned garden today and had no trouble at all. The only trouble I had was with Gundhild over there. You saw it.”

“What was she doing?” Steve asks, perturbed. As much as he admires women warriors, he didn’t much care for the look in the Valkyrie’s eye.

“Stopping me from leaving,” Zaara explains simply.

“You asked to leave?” Steve seems surprised.

“Yeah I did,” Zaara snorts as if it were obvious. “I’m sure as hell not going to sit around here a whole month. My work is done. I healed the trees. They just need to be fed and cared for. The girls can take care of that. I’m done.”

“I thought once a month was the rule,” Steve demurs.

“It’s Gundhild’s rule,” Zaara replies emphatically. “Not Freia’s. I can leave anytime, according to Freia. It’s Gundhild who keeps us stuck here. She’s got all those families waiting. You’ve seen how . . . how lonely they get.” Zaara clears her throat and glances briefly down at the meadow with discomfort. As much as she hates to witness the same raucous antics once again (for the maidens have gathered as they do every night and their warrior husbands respond with as much enthusiasm as they did before), she won’t judge them. _They certainly care about each other, even if it’s the sort of relationship I’d never want to have. They ought to be home so they can do all those things in private, more or less._

Steve nods, having read her thoughts.

“Oops!” Zaara giggles. “I didn’t mean for you to read that.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes sheepishly, a mischievous grin on his face. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s alright,” she smiles at him fondly. “I let my guard down.”

“Did you?” he asks, pulling her closer and cursing the damned bars between them.

“Uh huh,” she nods, having difficulty forming complete sentences. It always seems to happen when he’s touching her. The world begins to spin and Zaara finds his lips against hers, cheeks pressing between the cold metal of the golden bars. “Mmmm . . .” But he stops. “Steve!” she practically whines, for to have him pull away when she hungers for him feels like a crime indeed.

“Sorry,” he mutters and rubs his chin thoughtfully. “But I think I’ve got on a way out.”

“A way out?”

“Out of the garden,” he explains patiently. “Unless you want to wait another moon.”

“Oh, no!” Zaara gasps. “Steven Grant Rogers, what are you thinking?”

“You’ll have to fight her,” he shrugs matter-of-factly.

“Fight her?” Zaara is aghast. “You didn’t just say that.” He shrugs again. “You want me to fight a Valkyrie?!”

“She’s not a Valkyrie anymore,” Steve rightfully points out.

“Ha!” Zaara mocks him feebly. “She’s only six foot six and about three hundred pounds of Asgardian flesh. What the hell can I do to her?”

“Your powers?” Steve asks pointedly. “Telekinesis?”

“Doesn’t work in here,” she sighs. “I’ve tried. _We are all equal in the garden._ That’s what they keep telling me.”

“Equal . . .” Steve mulls it over, taking half a step away from the bars. Immediately Zaara thrusts a foot between them, trying to maintain body contact.

_God, am I that desperate to touch him?_

“If you’re all equal,” Steve thinks out loud, his heart secretly swelling at her reluctance to release him. “She might not have her Asgardian strength levels. Not in the garden—you said it isn’t part of Asgard. It’s a different realm. Then you can fight her.”

Zaara shakes her head in disbelief. “Okay, even if we are equal and she doesn’t have her normal strength, she was an elite warrior. She’s way bigger than me—even if she were only human, she’d be way stronger than I’d ever be.”

“I don’t know about that,” Steve disagrees, and he suddenly has that Captain America look upon his face. Zaara sees it and flinches.

_Shit. I’m in for it now._

_Language, doll_ , he chastises. But he continues out loud. “Get the other girls to help. There’s plenty of them.”

“The Freia-maidens?” Zaara asks pointedly. “Or the dryads?”

“Both,” he replies stubbornly.

“Those girls couldn’t tear their way out of a paper bag,” she points out. “All they think about is making out with their husbands. Aside from the garden, they’ve never worked a day in their lives. And the dryads . . . well, they’re just plain crazy. They might dance around while I fight her, but I doubt they’d be much help. They’re too obsessed with trees and flowers.”

“Then you’ve gotta do it on your own,” Steve presses on, relentless. “I’ve seen you train, Zaara. You’re dedicated. A hard worker. And very disciplined. I think it might be enough to get you out of the gate.”

“You have got to be kidding,” she mutters numbly. Unable to envision it, she teeters on the brink of shock.

Steve nods confidently. “You can do it. In fact, I’d put my money on you. You’ve been training hard for months. Even after you woke up, you got right back into it. Ayo showed you lots of tricks. And you’re in great physical shape from ballet and the weight lifting. Gundhild is probably out of practice. Doesn’t look like there’s anyone around who would spar with her.”

Zaara braces herself. “Steve. You are absolutely crazy. I can’t believe you’d ever . . .”

“I thought you read my mind,” he smirks. “Read it now.” He steps closer and Zaara automatically reaches her fingers up to his temples. Visions pour out of his mind and spill into hers. Fighting bullies in alleyways when he was short and scrawny, hand-to-hand combat with highly trained soldiers bearing deadly weapons when he didn’t even have his shield to help him. And his battles with the Winter Soldier—they all make Zaara gasp with wonder.

“Of course . . .” she whispers, her throat dry. “Of course you would want me to fight.” She closes her eyes to protest. “But Steve, honestly, I’ve never fought anyone for real. I’ve only taken classes, worked with trainers. I never even finished my X-men training. I’ve always relied on my powers in these situations.”

“And the only power you have right now is to heal the trees,” he raises his eyebrows. “Now you’ve got to count on you. Unless you want to let Gundhild keep you away from your kids for a month.”

She sighs. “You think she’s a bully.” Steve doesn’t bother to give her an answer—she can see it in his eyes. “Right,” she nods. “Well, who better than to coach me than you?”

“That’s my girl,” he smiles so brightly it makes her heart ache. “How are you feeling? Tired?”

“Yeah,” she admits. “It’s been a long day. I could use some sleep, though I’m still not hungry. They told me I don’t need food here. But a little rest might do me good.”

“Rest, then,” he agrees, sinking down into the grass with her. “Fight tomorrow.” After a moment, he adds, “Let me hold you.” She smiles and succumbs to his embrace. This time, it’s a little easier to block out the raucous couplings of the other Freia-maidens and their men. Instead, she focuses on the sweetness of Steve who brushes his lips over her ear while he outlines various attack scenarios in his mind. She falls asleep to them and dreams of besting Gundhild and rushing through those gates to crash into his waiting arms.

_You bet I’ll be there waiting for you, sweetheart. I know you can do this. Don’t be afraid. You can stand up to the big ones ‘cause the bigger they are, the harder they fall. Maybe you can teach Gundhild a lesson. She’s shirking her duty towards the garden. You already gave it your all; you deserve to go home. Freia agrees. If you have to fight to get there, then you can do that, too. I know you’ll make it._

Zaara sighs in her sleep.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Morning comes.

Steve opens his eyes at the first hint of the Asgardian sun. Kissing Zaara’s cheek softly, he lets his breath coat her skin. He’s not gotten used to this peculiar pink glow of hers, but he can’t say he doesn’t like it and imagines the way it must emanate over every part of her body—all the parts he cannot see. And he can’t say he wouldn’t like to join her in one of those chambers in the palace and have a huge canopied bed all to themselves.

 _Don’t jump the gun_ , he warns himself. _First thing’s first_. And he dreams of their first date together, wondering where he should take her. Allowing himself the luxury of time, for he is loathe to wake Zaara, he thinks of the charming French restaurant he found in the hotel by the Gorge. It’s the most beautiful part of upstate New York he’s ever seen. He loved the sound of the pounding waterfall when he visited once, months ago. He found out that the restaurant serves traditional French cuisine with a different type of wine for each portion of the meal. He desperately hopes it would appeal to Zaara because he really wants to have her all to himself for just one evening in a quiet, romantic setting. _That’s it. I’ll take her to the Gorge._

 _The Gorge?_ A sleepyheaded Zaara flutters her eyelids.

_Sleep, darling. I’m just planning our first date. I want it to be perfect._

_You would_ , she chuckles in her sleep.

 _I do,_ he replies earnestly. _I’ve waited a long time for this. I never get to have you all to myself. There’s always something in the way and now that Freia set you straight on that Phoenix business, we finally have our chance. And I’m not gonna let it pass me by_. He holds her tighter.

Giving a sigh of contentment, Zaara snuggles into the broad cradle of his torso. _If these damn bars weren’t right in between us, I might be ripping his clothes off right now_. But she only nestles her cheek against the thick cushion of his chest and falls back asleep.

To her surprise, she dreams of Bucky—Bucky smiling at her, Bucky beckoning her. She calls out to him, though she has no voice. _I’m coming, Bucky. I’m coming back to you. I promise_. She sees him lying warm in bed, her daughter and son cradled in each of his arms. He opens his eyes and it is as if he can see her. He smiles. _Bucky, Ellie, Henry. You look so sweet together. I love you all so much_. When she wakes, Steve is still holding her. “Morning,” he greets her cheerfully. “Are your ready to get the hell out of this garden?”

Yawning, Zaara stretches her arms. “I think so.” Pushing herself up, she takes the warmth of her body with her, leaving Steve cold and a little bit lost. Gritting his teeth, an intense glare takes over his face and he becomes the Captain once again.

“Zaara. You know what to do.”

“I’m open to suggestion,” she stares back at him pointedly. “Any other ideas? Just let them flow—I’ll read them in your mind.” He reaches his arms out to her and, to his delight, she falls right back into them. The bars are really annoying her now, but she does her best to ignore them as Steve’s mind briskly walks her through a few more combat scenarios. It seems she has a lot of options, and using the element of surprise is her favorite. Steve’s voice sounds every bit the Captain in her mind. _Gundhild won’t expect you to fight back, Zaara. No one from the garden’s stood up to her before. She’s intimidated all of those girls. You were a professional dance—you have discipline. I saw how hard you work. You have heart. It’s more of an advantage than you think._

 _Well_ , Zaara mulls it over. _Gundhild’s probably out of shape, like you said. If we’re all equal in the garden, then she might not have Asgardian strength. Then it’s almost a level playing field, right? Even though she’s still bigger than me._

 _I’ve fought lots of people bigger than me_ , Steve adds and it surprises her.

_So you can still read my mind, Bossypants?_

_Ever since you went into the garden_ , he replies. _But only when you’re touching me. Bucky’s gonna be real jealous. Especially ‘cause I can tell when you want me to do this_. He bends down and kisses her. Though his lips are sweet, the kiss is more than a bit needy and coaxes an unexpected yearning from her. With their newfound connection, he can sense her longing and it only serves to amp up his own passion. For the first time, his tongue finds its way between her lips and he can taste the inside of her mouth. Zaara relaxes her jaw and grants him entrance. His bold intrusion feels daring and sexy and only makes her want more. Panting, he abruptly pulls away from her, their antics becoming a little too much like those other wild couples for his liking. _I said I wouldn’t treat you that way, sweetheart. At least, not in public. We’d better reign it in. Save it for home._

 _Home_. And Zaara remembers what she’s doing here in the first place. The garden is healed. It is time to go home. Without further ado, she steps away from Steve who eyes her curiously, and begins the march to the front gates.

Gundhild stands with her back to Zaara. Moving closer, Steve grasps the bars in his hands. “Gundhild,” he calls. “Let Zaara out. Now.”

The former Valkyrie chuckles darkly. “Do I look to be in a gaming mood, mortal? Your maiden is bound to remain in the garden until the new moon rises. Get thy hands off the holy gates.”

“Gundhild. Move. Now!” Zaara orders in a furious voice, her patience utterly spent.

“You dare challenge me?” Gundhild roars with disbelief and, for a moment, reminds Zaara of an opera singer shrieking in her horned helmet. “Tiny mortal! Get thee back to the garden. I am keeper of the gates. I am guardian of Freia.”

“No, you’re not,” Zaara retorts, hands on hips. “You don’t have Freia’s blessing. She told me the truth. I’m free to leave. So move—or be moved.”

“Wench!” she snarls. “’Tis folly to challenge a Valkyrie.”

“Whatever,” Zaara readies herself, Steve’s eyes locked on her. Remembering to breath, Zaara prowls closer and issues a surprise kick to Gundhild’s kneecap, grateful her chainmail mini-skirt leaves her legs bare. The former Valkyrie wails in agony and falls to the ground. You were right, Steve. _Only fifteen pounds of pressure to dislocate a kneecap. Not bad, not bad._

But Gundhild won’t give up so easily. With her still formidable strength, she swipes at Zaara’s leg. Anticipating it, Zaara gives a quick hop and evades her just enough so she can give the tall woman a hard punch to the jaw. Her knuckles bleed and Zaara gasps for Gundhild, in a surprise move she from her Valkyrie past, grasps her opposite leg instead. Zaara struggles but cannot break her hold. Realizing this could turn very bad very quickly if she is pulled down to the ground given Gundhild’s superior size and weight, she bends both legs to launch herself upwards in diagonal jump that ends in a cartwheel. Throwing the former Valkyrie off balance, Zaara breaks her hold and sprints to the gates.

Steve awaits her anxiously, but the look in his eyes tells her it isn’t over yet. Gundhild is right behind, running despite the pain, a single stride of her long legs matching three of Zaara’s. Though she limps from the dislocated kneecap, there is fire in her eyes. Crouching down, Zaara leaps again and rotates around in the air so as to face her enemy. Wasting no time, she launches her leg into the woman’s torso with a vicious sidekick. The force is enough to send the larger woman to the ground once again. Very deliberately, Zaara positions her foot over Gundhild’s throat. “Don’t make me do this,” she warns. “I won’t let you stop me. You can’t keep me from them anymore.”

“Ungh,” Gundhild moans in pain as Zaara applies mild pressure to her neck. “Wouldst have made a fine Valkyrie, mortal.”

Zaara gives a wry grin, but keeps careful watch as she slowly backs away to the gates. When they magically open, she darts out. Steve catches her in waiting arms so big and powerful they shock her. He’s always been super strong, but he has Asgardian strength now. _I’ll have to warn him to be careful about that_. But she is unable to rejoice. Though she luxuriates in his cuddles and caresses for a moment, her mind remains fixed on Gundhild.

“Time to go, sweetheart,” he whispers in her ear, kissing her cheek.

“Wait,” she replies. Steve can only feel dismay as she releases him and turns back to the gate, eyeing Gundhild who still lies prone upon the ground. “Are you alright?” she calls, and the former Valkyrie gives an ugly groan, pushing herself up. She rubs at her knee.

“Well met, mortal. Well met,” she gazes down in shame. “You have bested me. Now take your _Primara_ and go. Leave me in my shame.”

“Gundhild,” Zaara speaks her name softly. Steve gently rests his hands upon her hips, moving close behind her. “It doesn’t have to be this way. They need you. All of Asgard needs you. Just because they don’t need you to be a warrior doesn’t mean you don’t have a place.”

“Some warrior am I,” Gundhild scoffs. “If a mere mortal can defeat me.” By now, the dryads have gathered to watch. Some cheer Zaara’s victory; others jeer to see the former Valkyrie conquered.

“Someone once told me we’re all equals in the garden,” Zaara intones with compassion. “I work hard. I train—a lot. But even if I didn’t, you have no right to keep me or any of them away from their families, not even if you don’t like all these husbands. Because,” Zaara lowers her voice. “I don’t like them, either. I’m not married, you know.”

“But your _Primara_?” Gundhild asks in surprise.

“We’ve bonded, but we’re not married,” Steve offers quietly, not wishing to interfere.

“That’s right,” Zaara agrees. “And I don’t want any other husbands. One’s enough—if I ever even choose to marry.”

“But they say you must have more than one,” Gundhild protests. Steve’s ears burn red.

“No one tells me who I marry,” Zaara says forcefully and suddenly, Gundhild sees the truth.

“We are not so unlike, you and I,” the former Valkyrie acknowledges with a weak smile.

“Yes,” Zaara agrees. “We are the unwilling. But I don’t care. They can call me whatever they want; I’m gonna do my thing. And you should keep doing yours—be who you want to be. Don’t listen to them. But . . .” Zaara leans closer to the gates. “Let them go, Gundhild. Release them, let them be with their families. Let Freia take charge of the gates. And you can decide what to do with your gifts. She didn’t say I had to marry; she only asked me to heal the garden. So as long as the job gets done, who’s to say how you go about doing it?”

“I have never,” Gundhild begins, sounding rather lost. “Never worked in the garden. I have always stayed here.”

“No time like the present,” Steve clears his throat.

“Leave the gates,” Zaara looks back and forth at the dryads who have begun dancing in earnest. “Set yourself free, and the rest of them, too. And I’ll probably be seeing you again, but not for a long time.”

“Well met, Lady Zaara. Well met,” Gundhild slowly rises and gives her an awkward bow before she limps off towards the trees.

“And now,” Steve snakes his arm about her waist and squeezes her tight. “Home.” But as he pulls her away from the gates, Zaara faints in his arms. Cursing under his breath, Steve remembers that she hasn’t eaten in days. _The garden protected her from hunger. Damnit, I shoulda brought her some food. I'm so selfish; what was I thinking?_ Carrying her in his arms, he breaks into a run and heads straight for the palace, cursing himself. The pink glow of her skin wanes considerably by the time he makes it inside, but when he finally sets her down in one of the private chambers, Zaara gradually comes to. “Water,” she begs, so Steve holds a glass to her lips while she sips. The handmaidens swiftly bring a tray of food and, after swallowing a morsel of cheese and bread, she falls back asleep.

The palace staff chastise him sharply, telling him it is the duty of the _Primara_ to provide his maiden with sustenance immediately upon leaving the garden. Hunger and thirst plague all the maidens the moment they depart since they never need to consume food or drink in the holy place. Resigned that they will be stuck in Asgard a while longer, Steve settles in and watches Zaara rest upon the four-poster bed. The handmaidens draw the sheer silk curtains close around her, but he pulls one open so as to keep her well within his sight.

“Will you not bed her?” one of the bolder maidens asks, gesturing to him as if it's open season on Zaara.

He blushes deeply. “Uh, no. Not yet.” For he knows he cannot join Zaara in bed—not as he did on earth. Something has changed between the two of them. Whether it is the bond or the newfound honesty that came about when she entered the garden, he cannot expect to innocently share a bed with her anymore, not like he did back on earth. That time is over. He cannot lie to himself. If he joins her now, the temptation would be too great.

Giggling, the handmaidens whisk in and out of the chamber while he keeps watch. They bring bowls of fresh fruit and nuts as well as goblets filled with water and wine and even a flask of Asgardian mead. Zaara sleeps through it all. The servants inform him there will be revels this evening and that he, who is responsible for the dispatch of Loki, shall be the guest of honor. Steve is underwhelmed by the news for it will delay not only their return to earth and their family, but also their first date. He is reminded of that wretched state dinner in Wakanda. When Zaara wakes, he is still sitting by her bedside, head in hands. “Steve?” she asks tentatively, reaching for his arm. He jumps slightly when her skin touches his, but an eager smile takes over his face.

“Hey,” he murmurs, moving in for a kiss. Zaara allows it, but quickly pushes him away.

“Sorry,” she apologizes. “I smell food. And I’m starving.”

“Of course,” he chuckles. Since she seems fairly weak, he props her up with several heavy, overstuffed pillows. She protests, hating to bring food into the beautiful bed, but Steve won’t hear of it. “You’re hungry, so you stay put.”

“Bossypants,” she says just under her breath.

“I heard that,” he replies cheerfully. “Now—eat.” He places one of the trays in her lap, then searches the various goblets and pitchers for water since he knows wine will be of no help right now. She needs to hydrate and hear the news.

“What’s up?” she asks awkwardly, chewing on her food. Though she hates to talk with her mouth full, she can’t stop herself. Steve sports a most curious expression on his face and she can no longer read his mind as she did back in the garden. “You look unhappy.”

“Well,” he hems. “They want us to stay here in the palace tonight. They’re having, uh, revels. All because I got rid of Loki.”

“And where is the tricky guy now, by the way?” Zaara asks.

“Well, Heimdell made contact with Thor. He’ll come back soon to take care of his brother.”

“You mean—” Zaara chuckles, trying not to choke her food. “Loki’s—”

“He’s still down on the floor in the throne room with the hammer on top of him,” Steve tries to suppress his grin. “All by himself. Everyone’s left and they’ve shut off the room. No one’s allowed in or out until Thor gets back.”

“Brilliant,” her smile grows even larger as she swallows another morsel. “Where did the big guy go anyways?”

“Turns out he’s back on earth,” Steve shrugs. “Fell through some strange sort of portal by mistake. Heimdell said he was actually in New York this time, in the Village, of all places.”

“The Village?” Zaara tilts her head. “Wonder what he’s doing there? Oh, well. He’s been popping up all over the place so I guess there had to be some reason.”

“Not sure if he chose to go, or if he got dragged against his will,” Steve notes sharply. “He left his hammer, after all.”

“Mmm,” Zaara agrees, chewing again. When she finally swallows, she resolves to slow down so she doesn’t make herself sick. “So, what’s eating you, Captain? You got Loki, I healed the garden and beat Gundhild. Thought we’re sitting pretty.”

“Just gotta get through this party,” he groans, not wanting to speak of how worried he feels. It’s not just his newfound knowledge of Freia-maidens; it’s that instinct of his—some strange, gut feeling he’s always had about Zaara. It only intensified after the bonding ceremony. _There’ll be lots of men there—lots of men wanting her_. “Maybe Heimdell can send us back right afterwards? I, uh, just really want to go home.”

“Me, too,” she concurs, looking at him curiously. “You sure we can’t skip it?”

“What, you don’t you want to go to a party on Asgard?” he pouts, pretending he actually wants to be there.

“With all those men with their crazy helmets?” she asks, aghast. “Not after what I found out in the garden. I’m like a chunk of prime beef to them.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll look after you,” Steve finally lets himself wrap his arms around her waist, careful not to squeeze her full belly too tight.

“Will you now?” she flirts. “You’ll have to convince them I’m taken.”

“You are taken,” he growls, moving in for a kiss. Her mouth tastes of fruit and cheese with a dash of wine, but Steve loves it and finds himself pressing his body so close he almost climbs onto the bed next to her.

“Captain,” Zaara sighs in mock horror, kissing him right back.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, his voice deep and husky. “Got a bit carried away. I don’t like the thought of all those other men looking at you any more than you do.”

Zaara purses her lips. “About that . . .” Glancing up at him, she takes in his patient expression, eyes so clear and full of a hunger he denies for her sake. It’s the look that always does her in. She reaches her hands to cup his cheeks and makes him blush because no one has ever touched him this way before. It’s sexy and intimate and so tender he wants to take her right then and there, propriety be damned. But he won’t. He will wait, because that’s who he is.

“Go on,” he urges, trying to slow his breath.

 _How can I say this? That I’m supposed to be with more than one man, supposed to at least have a Secondara with my Primara? He heard what I told Gundhild._ “Steve, I . . . I saw some strange things in that garden. You saw some of them too, didn’t you?”

Recalling the rowdy and rather obscene couples engaging in . . . well, activities he can’t really let himself think about along the garden wall, Steve bites his lip. “I sure did, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “But that’s not you. And it never has to be. I know who you are.”

“Do you?” she asks, sadly. “Steve, I’m even not sure who I am anymore. Not after being in that garden. Am I a Freia maiden or a part of the Phoenix? Am I destined to end up like all those half-naked girls with leaves in their hair, all crazy? Or am I supposed to be with all . . . all those men like that . . . I can’t even say it.”

“I know you, Zaara,” he retorts stubbornly. “I know who you are. You're the only one who gets to choose your destiny. You don’t have to be like them.”

“I want to believe you, Steve,” she says in a tremulous voice. “I really do.”

“Zaara,” he shakes his head. “No one decides these things for you. You can’t let them.”

“Freia said the garden is my true home,” she whispers. “That I’ll come back some day, when my earthly tasks are done.”

“That’s what they put on prayer cards at church when someone dies,” Steve snorts angrily. “You’ve seen them, haven’t you? Don’t you think Freia means you get to live out your life on earth? Earth is our home. It’s where we belong. It’s your family—Ellie and Henry. Bucky, too. The whole school. She didn’t say you have to leave them.”

“No,” Zaara agrees. “Just that someday, I’m destined to come back here.”

“Maybe,” he agrees pensively. “But that doesn’t mean you have to act like all those other girls by the garden wall. You have a choice.”

His words make her smile ruefully. ”I always find myself using that phrase when I’m parenting,” she admits. “ _You have a choice_. You’re right, Steve. I won’t let anyone force me into doing anything I’m uncomfortable with. I’m glad you’re on my side.”

“I’m glad I’m on your side, too, doll,” he chuckles, planting another kiss on her cheek. “’Cause I saw the way you took down Gundhild.”

“Oh,” Zaara laughs. “Didn’t realize I scared you that bad.”

“Wouldn’t want to tangle with you,” he laughs, but then he hems and lowers his gaze shyly. “And I’m also glad ‘cause you’re letting me take you on a date.”  
  
“Is that all you think about?” she asks, hands on hips.

“Pretty much,” he admits, looking back at her adorably. “Aside from seeing Ellie and Henry again. I miss them something awful. Bucky’s gonna give us hell for being away so long.”

“Bucky,” Zaara sighs, half-longingly, half-ruefully, trying not to think of the _Secondara_ business and all it implies. Eira’s voice echoes through her mind. _Even Agathe has four, and she the fewest of all._ But she pushes it away, fervently hoping that when they get home, things will go back to normal, apart from her dating Steve, of course. It’s difficult to get her mind around the simple idea of being with him, of love between a woman and a man, of finally living a life of her own. With some relief, she returns to her mother-hen default. “I’ve got to finish getting those words out of his mind. Bucky’s so used to our tether, he just hates being without it.”

“When we spent the night together by the wall,” Steve asks shyly, rubbing his cheek against her flowery hair. “Was that what the tether’s like? You could read my mind and I could read yours?”

“Well, yes,” she reluctantly admits, not sure what he’s getting at. “You don’t get much privacy.”

He shakes his head. “Guess I’m jealous then.”

“Jealous?” she asks, though his words actually delight her. “Would you rather I spend my time trying to read your mind instead of kissing you?”

At this, he heaves his body up onto the bed beside her and gives in to his longing. “Naw, don’t bother. I like your kisses just fine. Think I’ll stick with them.” Drawing her into his lap, she opens her mouth for him once again and he partakes of her sweetness, giving her countless carresses. All too soon, the handmaidens return to take away the trays. He freezes, bitter yet grateful since he’s uncertain whether he could have stopped himself otherwise. Zaara’s been accepting his kisses and touches so eagerly as of late, the temptation to take advantage is becoming a real problem for him. He realized it as he brushed gentle kisses down her throat and found his lips boldly planting a single kiss upon the soft surface of her breast like he did when he plucked the fruit from her bodice back in the garden. When he pulls away, it coaxes a muffled moan from her lips. “Sweetheart,” he confesses, eyeing the servants as he gets up out of the bed. “I really want to do things right. Let’s go to this party and, when we get home, we’ll go on that date first thing. ‘Cause I don’t know if I can stand to wait much longer.”

She takes his hand and squeezes it, relishing the hungry look in his eyes and the way it makes her body sing. “If you say so, Bossypants. Let’s grace them with our presence, then get the hell out and go home.”

His arm wrapped snug about her waist, Steve leads her to the revelries where Thor’s warrior companions preside, guardians of the throne in his absence. Volstagg, acting as their leader, greets them in a booming voice. “Well met, Steven Rogers, well met,” he slaps Steve on the back with an arm so strong it would have bowed Steve over had he not partaken of the fruit from Freia’s garden. Now, with his own Asgardian strength, Steve doesn’t even flinch.

“Uh, thank you,” Steve smiles modestly. “Glad to be of help.”

“We heard glad tidings that the Lady Zaara healed the sacred garden,” Hogun adds reverently. “We also owe her our thanks.”

“Indeed,” Fandral takes her hand and raises it to his lips rather seductively.

Steve suppresses a growl.

“You’re welcome,” Zaara says softly while Steve’s arm snakes around her waist again. She cringes slightly at his terrible grip, vowing to remind him he that he swallowed that fruit. _He’s crazy strong now—he’s gotta be real careful not to hurt anyone. I wonder how long it’ll last?_

“You are most fair, my Lady,” Fandral murmurs, not releasing her hand but only pressing it to his lips even harder. “Truly, your beauty puts Freia’s other maidens to shame.”

“Now that’s laying it on a little thick, isn’t it?” Zaara asks, looking to Steve.

“You must agree,” Fandral also looks to Steve. To her surprise, Zaara realizes he is paying deference. “Though you are from Midgard, Steven Rogers, as my lady’s _Primara_ you must know she has need of a _Secondara_. It would be my pleasure to perform every duty required to please my lady . . . If she would have me.”

“I think I can manage just fine on my own,” Steve retorts sullenly, but Zaara squeezes his arm where it grips her waist tight.

“Why, thank you, Fandral,” she replies politely, averting her eyes while he directs his intense gaze her way. Something about him reminds her of a wolf on the prowl. “We’ll discuss it later. You’re right; I don’t have a _Secondara_. But there’s, uh, lots of applicants for the job. We’ll be sure to keep you in mind.”

“You do me great honour,” Fandral smiles, kissing her hand again. “I would be the most dutiful _Secondara_ ever there was, my lady. Failing that, I am more than willing to serve as your Third. Or Fourth. Or, dare I say, even your Fifth, if need be.”

“Okay,” she calls as Steve drags her away. “Uh, thank you.”

“What the hell was that?” he asks as they disappear quite deliberately in the crowd. Men continue to stare hungrily wherever they pass.

“Some Freia maiden thing,” she replies out the corner of her mouth, smiling and nodding politely in an attempt to deflect all the attention. After her time in the garden, she feels a bit rusty using her telepathy in a more active manner. “You saw how they are in the garden.”

“Thor mentioned this _Secondara_ thing back on earth,” Steve furrows his brow, hating all the eyes cast upon them. To his surprise, he feels some urgency over it, some queer sense that Zaara shouldn’t be here; indeed, shouldn’t be in public at all. They should have stayed in their room, sequestered until the party is over. Zaara should not be around all these men.

“Yeah,” she nods. “Like you said, Bossypants. It’s my choice. I don’t have to follow their traditions. What works on Asgard doesn’t apply on earth. Still,” she adds. “We’d better humour them. Pretend we really are looking for a _Secondara_.”

“ _Secondara_?” Steve is aghast. “Thor asked if Bucky . . .”

“Like I said,” she quickly interrupts, hoping to quell his suspicions. He doesn’t need to know what Eira said. He’s already heard enough. “Tradition. Doesn’t apply to me.”

Steve gazes at her darkly, then puts on his coldest expression to greet the men who surround them. Already, they’ve managed to enclose the pair in a haphazard circle, but Steve presses on towards the exit. _Looks like I’ll just have to keep warning them off. But what about Bucky? Will he accept Zaara’s off-limits now since we’re going on a date? That’ll be a fine mess once we get home. But she’s worth it._

Just before they manage their escape, Volstagg offers each of them a toast. When Steve has had his fill of mead, Zaara gazes upon him with weary eyes. “Steve?”

“Yeah?” he plants his lips upon the top of her head, eyes surveying the room yet again. By now it appears to be bursting at its seams, chockfull of men who stare at them, envious.

“Can we go home now?”

“Sure, sweetheart,” he kisses her again. “Sure.”

 

 

 


	20. Burning Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Zaara go on their first date.
> 
> Bucky is jealous, but he's still a hunka-hunka burnin' love.

 

 

_Lord almighty, I feel my temperature rising_

_Higher and higher, it’s burning through to my soul_

_Girl, girl, girl, girl you’re gonna set me on fire_

_My brain is flaming, and I don’t know which way to go._

_Your kisses lift me higher_

_Like the sweet song of a choir_

_You light the morning sky_

_With burning love_

_Burning love_

_Ah, burning love_

_I’m just a hunk, a hunk of burning love_

 

 

 

It is strange and unexpected, but Bucky has never felt this lonely before--not even during his days as the Soldier. When that life came to an abrupt halt, he met a different sort of loneliness. It was oddly cleansing, somehow. Never having been completely alone in the world, he soon came to treasure the peace it brought him when he dwelt in Bucharest. Control over his own person was a rare, almost unimaginable gift after being enslaved by Hydra and to live free from the grind of going on mission after mission, whether for Hydra or even the US Army, was a balm in and of itself. Sure, he missed Steve. He even missed other people. But if he felt lonely, there was always someone to talk to on the streets; the fruit seller, the paper boy. Intimate company was not something he could afford while living on the run. He figured he’d never have it again. Part of him did not care; the rest of him longed for it terribly. But something about having the children all to himself while Steve and Zaara are in Asgard makes him feel unduly forsaken. Nothing is right with Zaara gone. Even with the company of Rogue, he is lonely. _Rogue’s a good dame,_ he tells himself. _A damn fine dame. But friendship’s all there is between us. That’s all there can ever be._

 

 _S’alright, Bucky._ Rogue reads his mind quite plainly for their tether is as strong as ever. She’s always known the score between them. _You’re a fine fella. A real gentleman. I’ve had plenty of man problems in my life so I’m glad to have your friendship. Romance ain’t meant for someone like me._

_Don’t say that, doll,_ he demurs. _You deserve someone. Someone better than me. Why, I’d be that man for you, if I could. But it’s . . ._

_I know how you feel about her,_ Rogue interrupts, a sparkle in her eye. _No need to explain, cowboy. There’s a reason we call you Hunka-hunka Burnin’ Love._

_Not that again,_ he groans inwardly.

 

 _I can explain it. S_ he giggles out loud. “Just let me play you the song. You’ll love Elvis.”

 

“I don’t wanna hear it,” he frowns, and resumes chasing Henry around the room.

 

 _The Captain better watch out,_ she teases. _Else a hunka hunka burnin’ love just might steal away his girl._

 

_We’ll see, doll. We’ll see._

 

The children really do take up all of his time. In fact, they seem to demand every single ounce of his energy and more if they can get it. They love Rogue well enough, but there’s something about the former Winter Soldier that has them head over heels. While Henry still seems to favour Steve (he never fails to ask for him, especially at bedtime), it doesn’t stop the boy from curling up in Bucky’s arms night after night. Bucky always surrenders and doesn’t even try to send him back to his own bed late in the night. Though he can get Henry to fall asleep in his own room, when it comes to Ellie, he doesn’t even try. She takes her place next to him each night and falls asleep in his arms after he reads her the requisite number of princess stories; usually six or seven. Indeed, when Zaara and Steve finally return, Ellie almost seems sorry. “Bucky, you can sleep in my room from now on,” she insists.

 

“Thanks, kitten,” he smiles, gazing uneasily at Zaara who sighs and rolls her eyes. “But I gotta stick with the grown-ups.” He has no words when Zaara takes him in her arms. He can only think and his thoughts penetrate deep into her heart as she slashes apart the tether he shares with Rogue and weaves a new one between the two of them. _Doll, doll, doll. Don’t ever leave me again._

 

 _I won’t. I promise. Not ever, Bucky._ Her feelings betray her and she grips him hard. _Missed you so bad._

 

He gives a half-grin. _You hurt to be away from me? Really? But it couldn’t have hurt that bad--at least not as bad as it hurt me._

 

 _It did. It really did,_ she admits. She won’t tell him what she learned in the garden. Not yet. Hell, she won’t even talk about it with Steve, who has heard enough already. With their first date looming on the horizon, she can only stare at the Captain while Bucky clutches her tightly in his arms. Steve smiles hesitantly, battling his own jealousy again as his best friend caresses the woman he loves. His relief to be home melts into his love for Bucky and the children. Indeed, Henry is firmly planted in his arms and won’t let Steve set him down for an entire hour while he carries Ellie on his back, his Asgardian strength still so robust he doesn't notice her weight at all.

 

“Kids,” Zaara finally calls. “Might be nice if one of you said hello to me. Your mother. Remember?” And the two of them make a mad rush for her, Bucky opening his arms to let them join in their embrace while Steve steals away to put on a pot of coffee. “Mmmm . . .” she murmurs as she kisses them hello. “So good to be back.”

 

“We missed you, Mama,” Ellie cries, feeling a stab of guilt. “We really did. It’s just that we missed Steve more.”

 

“Thanks for your honesty,” Zaara flinches, but laughs anyways. “I know how much you love him.”

 

“We still love you, Mama,” Ellie protests and glances up at the former Winter Soldier. “And Bucky loves you, too. He even wants to marry you. But I want him to marry me instead.” At this, Bucky goes red with embarrassment.

 

Zaara nearly chokes. “Okay, Ellie. That’s enough. We all love each other and we're happy to be together again.”

 

“Family!” Henry shrieks and runs off to retrieve a drawing from his backpack. He soon returns, waving it in the air.

 

“Uh, yeah. About that,” Rogue interjects, on her way out the door. “The, uh, teacher was a little concerned. But she did say families come in all shapes and sizes.” Zaara considers Henry's drawing. It appears to be a family with one mother and two fathers.

 

“Good,” Steve grins perfunctorily. “They do.” Henry leaps onto Steve’s lap. Steve strokes the boy’s messy blonde locks absently and plants a firm kiss upon his head, staring hard at Zaara all the while. “Henry, when I was a boy like you, I only had two people in my family. Me and my Ma. Just the two of us. A few years later, Bucky came along. He’s been my family ever since.”

 

With his arm still draped over Zaara’s shoulders, Bucky smiles at him. “Good to have you back, Steve.”

 

“Good to be home, Buck,” he replies, gazing at the two of them with wonder, Ellie in their arms. _A perfect picture._ _They look perfect together. Like they belong. I bet Zaara’s already given back his tether. He looks relieved. Just look at how he cares for her. Makes me jealous as hell. But she promised to go on a date with me. Feels like I’ll be taking her away from him in more ways than one._ A jolt of guilt suddenly hits him hard.

“What is it, Steve?” Zaara asks gently, noticing something’s up though she can no longer read his mind. She lost that ability when she left Freia’s garden and misses it dearly. Without relinquishing his grip, Bucky glances down at her, a question in his eyes. She leans into his body, relishing his heat and that musky scent she’s missed so much. Having Ellie squeezed between them only adds to the love.

 

“Nothin’,” Steve murmurs, planting another kiss on Henry.

 

Ellie runs to him, anxious to make him feel better. "Captain Steve--you look sad."

 

“No!” Henry snarls, wrapping his small body around Steve’s torso possessively.

 

“Hey kids, don’t fight,” Steve laughs. “There’s plenty of me to go around.”

 

“Don’t be sad, Steve,” Ellie purrs, pushing her brother away while he squeals in protest.

 

“Come on, kitten,” Bucky releases Zaara and scoops Ellie back into his arms. “This sounds like a conversation for grown-ups. We’ll talk about Steve’s feelings later—after you two are in bed.”

 

“Aw,” she protests, but her groans quickly turn into giggles when Bucky tickles her. What follows is a romp so wild and joyous Zaara can only watch from the sidelines, clutching her gut with laughter. Despite the boisterous roughhousing, Steve is exquisitely careful with his new Asgardian strength, playing and wrestling with the children and Bucky just for amusement’s sake.

 

“Whoa, boy,” Bucky chortles when Steve whips him up in the air and catches him in one hand. “What the hell happened to you?”

 

“Language,” Steve chastises. “Ate some food on Asgard. The stuff that gives Thor his strength.”

 

“You got Thor-level strength?” Bucky asks, incredulous while Henry swings from his prosthetic arm like an acrobat. “What’re you doing, wrestlin’ with kids? Someone could get hurt!”

 

“Steve is strong like Thor!” Henry shouts gleefully and launches a sharp little punch onto Steve’s jaw.

 

”HENRY!” Zaara screams, horrified. It was a playful punch, but a punch nonetheless.

 

“You got a good right hook, kid,” Steve grins, rubbing his jaw in admiration. “But we don’t punch.”

 

“Captain America makes punchy-punchy,” Henry pouts while Bucky tries not to laugh.

 

“Never to his family,” Steve shakes his head. “Only to the bad guys. Now, come on. Shake hands. And don’t do it again.” The small boy takes Steve’s much larger hand in his own and shakes it solemnly before throwing his arms around his neck in apology. “S’alright, champ. I missed you, too. Every minute. I really did.”

 

Something clamps up in Zaara’s throat. The obvious affection between the boy and the Captain makes her heart swell with love. For the first time, she lets herself imagine Steve as Henry’s father, two blonde heads huddled together tight. _It seems so natural—like they belong. Like they were made for each other. Maybe it’s the right thing, for me to date Steve. He loves these kids so much. Bucky, too. God, how could I possibly love two men at the same time? Secondara, Primara. It’s too much. Can’t think about it. Just gotta get used to being home again._ She keeps these thoughts carefully veiled from Bucky who comes over and embraces her. Pressing his wet lips to her cheek, she feels his hot breath upon her body. “Missed you, doll. So much.”

 

 _I know, Bucky._ _I know._

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Steve doesn’t press her to go on a date right away. This is only their first night home, after all, and he wants her to settle in. But he won’t wait much longer. He can’t. Something has changed and he cannot share her bed anymore. He can only leave it to Bucky with a distinct sense of discomfort and hot rush of envy. He knows nothing will happen between them, but he is unable to quell his jealousy. “Steve,” Zaara stands behind him, bringing her hands to caress his powerful shoulders once the children have been put to bed. He simply stands there, staring at their bedroom doors. “Penny for your thoughts? What’s going on?”

 

“Nothing,” he murmurs, trying to stop himself from turning around and embracing her. Imagining the way her lips would feel against his, he cannot help but give a small shudder.

 

“Nothing again,” she observes quietly. “You gonna talk to me about it? Or am I going to have to pry it out of you?”

 

“Let’s go to my room,” he sighs. When he turns around, he clasps her hand in his. _Things have changed_ , he tells himself _._

 

Bucky emerges from Ellie’s room and follows them, wordless, into their room. _Our room. Think I only ever slept there once,_ he notes soberly.

 

 _Still your room, though—even if you don’t think of it that way,_ Zaara points out. _But I wonder why Steve is bringing us here?_  “Do you want to watch something?” she asks pointedly when they close the door. “I’ve missed our movie nights.”

 

“Me, too,” Steve murmurs, clasping both her shoulders in his huge hands and staring at her like she’s a favourite desert he cannot indulge in. “But we need to discuss our . . . sleeping arrangements.”

 

 Bucky’s eyes widen.

 

“Alright,” her voice trembles. “Bucky can hear whatever you have to say.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “You know I have feelings for you, sweetheart. Bucky knows it, too. It ain’t a secret—not anymore. And I don’t think it would be right for us to sleep in the same bed, not even for Bucky’s sake. I’m sorry about that, Buck. Not until . . . unless we  . . .” He won’t complete the sentence.

 

Zaara bows her head, unable to meet his steady gaze, to delve into those blue eyes that want so much from her—that seem to want _everything_ from her. Her voice barely sounds above a whisper. “Bucky still needs me.” The former Winter Soldier bites his lip hard, cringing to have his fate discussed right in front of him.

 

“I know,” Steve acknowledges solemnly and glances at his friend with unease.

 

“Doll . . .” Bucky begins, not sure what he’s going to say.

 

“Bucky,” she interrupts as she moves away from Steve who releases her with great reluctance. Taking the former Winter Soldier in her arms, she pulls him close, as if to comfort herself.  Her arms wrap around his solid waist and she feels the impossibly muscular bulk of his body against her own. It is a most comforting hardness, the physical solidity of him so firm it seems unbreakable, like some ancient oak tree. She seeks refuge in his hardness, for the thought of Steve being absent from her bed hurts more than she would have guessed. “Bucky, you can stay in my room whenever you like . . . You _belong_ with me. Don’t ask how I know—I just do. You don’t have to feel bad if Steve isn’t there. And we’ll take our time getting those last words out. We’ll do it right. I can start again tomorrow. Sam and the girls will help. Wanda, too. But I’m in no hurry to get rid of _you_ , even after the words are gone. You’re family now. Understand?”

 

He nods in that funny way of his and gives her a half-smile.

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve interjects and, once again, their attention turns to him.

 

“Steve, it’s fine. You shouldn’t do it; not if you feel it's not right,” she agrees solemnly. Regretfully.

 

“Hey, you two, why don’t you just tell me what’s going on?” Bucky finally asks, for he’s had enough. “What the hell happened in Asgard?” A look of guilt washes over both their faces and it worries him all the more. _Something changed. What the hell was it?_

 

“Buck,” Steve sighs, suddenly hating himself. It’s a fine line he’s walking. He’s got to come clean with his best friend and with the woman he loves. “I told Zaara on Asgard that . . . I love her. I’m serious about her. I want to be with her . . . forever. I’m not playing anymore. I can’t spend the night in her bed again unless . . .”

 

Zaara swallows. “It’s just how he feels, Bucky. It’s not your fault. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me.”

 

“Zaara,” Steve protests, coming closer. Suddenly, he stands close behind her while she still clings to Bucky in front, the two of them hemming her in like they did that night in Wakanda. Eira’s voice echoes in her mind.

_Are you not woman enough to know?_

 

“How do _you_ feel, doll?” Bucky pouts, his voice deep and gravelly, eyebrow quirking at hearing the unfamiliar voice inside her head.

 

Clearing her throat, Zaara speaks quietly. “I, uh, told him I’d give him a chance.”

 

“A chance?” Bucky asks, as if the word itself is hurtful.

 

“A chance,” she whispers back, nodding. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, Bucky. What’ll come of it. I never thought I’d ever be able to love anybody. Not without them ending up like a piece of burnt toast. Rogue told you about the Phoenix and all the people it killed, right?”

 

“What happened on Asgard?” Bucky repeats, blinking in sudden sorrow while Steve stares at him anxiously.

 

“I learned something about myself,” she explains humbly. “My powers are related to the Phoenix, but not the destructive part. It’s a different energy. It’s, well, the creative part. The part that makes life, that heals and makes things grow. I healed that whole damn garden, Bucky. And it felt good. It felt right. So when Steve told me how he feels about me, I decided to give him a chance.”

 

“Oh,” Bucky nods slowly, the truth dawning on him. Steve feels his heart break.

 

“It doesn’t change my feelings for you,” Zaara cries softly, tears threatening to fall. _What am I doing to him? What are we doing to him, the both of us?_

 

“Your feelings for me,” Bucky murmurs.

 

“Yeah,” she pleas desperately. “I care about you, Bucky. I . . . I love you.”

 

“Love me?” he laughs darkly.

 

“You know I do,” she insists, dead serious.

 

“Then why Steve?” he can barely ask, feeling betrayed though he doesn’t understand why. _Girl has a right to make a choice. She’s free. Not like me._

 

“I care about him, too,” she whispers, making Steve’s heart sing even while it aches for Bucky. Like a madwoman, she plants her forehead against Bucky’s chin and quivers. She knows the truth must be told. “Bucky. You are my dear friend. I don’t know what’s gonna happen when I go on this date with Steve. For all I know, it'll blow up in our faces. I was always afraid to be with a man, afraid the Phoenix would come and he’d end up dead. I didn’t want that—not for anybody. But now, there’s a chance. And I’m willing to take it because Freia told me so. She told me I’m _supposed_ to be with somebody. It’s . . . it’s the nature of our power. We’re not made to be alone.” Her eyes flutter over to meet Steve’s and he shivers so her eyes quickly return to Bucky. “But I’m not willing to give you up, either. So, stay with me. With us. You’re family. We belong together.”

 

From his place in his arms, Bucky’s eyes dart over to Steve who grimaces, for he has never seen his friend this torn. Guilt over putting Bucky through such turmoil during what should be a time of healing doesn’t sit right with the man known as Captain America. Still, he’s got to be honest with himself. He has to be who he is. Nothing less will do.

 

“Look,” Zaara makes a last-ditch effort to smooth things over with the former Winter Soldier. “You can still sleep in my bed even if Steve won’t. It’s not your fault; it has nothing to do with you. You and I are friends and I am here for you, day or night. You don’t need to worry about anything else.”

 

“I worry, doll,” Bucky demurs, running his fingers through her hair. “I always worry.”

 

And Steve watches the woman he loves find solace in his best friend’s arms. _They look so beautiful together, so perfect. Bucky always did love the dames, but this is more than that. He’s holding her like he loves her for real, like he needs her more than anything. And the way she’s lookin’ at him . . . it’s the way I want her to look at me._

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Late in the night, Steve leaves his bed and crosses through the parlour to Zaara’s room. He can hear the two of them breathing through the doorway, which is slightly ajar. Peering through the crack, he sees Bucky’s flesh arm thrown over her hip. He sleeps half-naked, his body spooning Zaara who wears her usual modest cotton pajamas. Her hair fans over Bucky’s chiseled abdomen in a way that makes him want to stroke it and draw it at the same time. Darker feelings soon overcome him. He stiffens and grasps hold of himself, listening carefully to make certain the children are well asleep. Then he heads into the shower and beats himself off, coming into the warm water as it splashes down upon his chest, dreaming of her, of penetrating that soft, womanly body while Bucky sleeps with her in his arms.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

After breakfast, Bucky takes the children to the garden and Steve seizes the opportunity to remind her of their date. “I called late last night and found out we can make a reservation,” he announces hopefully while she sips his coffee. It always gives him such satisfaction when she eats and drinks what he provides her. The earnestly innocent look in his eyes is offset by the heavy, masculine pheromones firing her way.

 

Something tells her she’d better wake the hell up right now. She clears her throat. “Okay.”

 

“Okay . . . Meaning you’ll go on our date tonight?” he asks, choosing to keep things as clear as possible. If Zaara doesn’t take this step and move their relationship to the next level, he might feel forced to move out of the suite and into one of the empty bedrooms downstairs. He can’t spend every night being so close to her, dreaming of her and not having her, not being allowed to hold her, touch her in a way that tells her she belongs to him. He’ll do almost anything at this point to make her his own. The blood pumping through his very veins tells him they’re meant for each other and with the bond they made in Asgard, as far as he’s concerned, cements it all the more. His love is real. He can’t pretend anymore.

 

“I don’t want to hurt Bucky,” she confesses, blinking back tears. “But I made you a promise.”

 

“You want to go on a date with me, don’t you?” he asks eagerly. Too eagerly.

 

After a moment, she admits the truth. “Yes. Yes, I do.” For Steve was not the only one who felt alone last night. To have Bucky’s scent by her side, his hand upon her body all the night long brought her untold comfort and relief, but she could never feel whole without Steve. Dreaming of him every moment, of him standing outside her bedroom door and longing for her, she fantasized about sneaking off to the guest room, of climbing into that queen-size bed where he sleeps all alone, of pulling off his clothes and kissing him all over. Everywhere.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Late in the morning, there’s a knock at the front door. Zaara glances up from her laptop and gets a funny feeling in the pit of stomach. “Oh, my god. It’s Remy.”

 

Bucky and Steve stare at her. “What?” they ask in unison, looking askance.

 

“Rogue’s ex,” she breathes and jumps up. She flies down the stairs and the men follow.

 

“ _Amour_ ,” a deep voice rumbles when she opens the door and two muscular arms pull her into their embrace. Steve’s heart burns with rage. Bucky feels positively homicidal.

 

“Hi, Remy,” Zaara murmurs, her voice obscured by a mop of chestnut hair and the lips of a stranger that swiftly clamp down upon her own. She grips his elbows in her hands to hold him back while Steve and Bucky simmer, barely able to restrain themselves from pounding him to a pulp if she gives even the slightest sign of needing to be rescued.

 

“ _Amour_ ,” the man repeats when he finally comes up for air. They still haven’t seen his face.

 

“Stow it, Remy,” Zaara impatiently wipes away the wet left by his mouth with the back of her hand. “Lemme up. Geez. She’s over in her room. You’d better be careful. You haven’t been forgiven yet.”

 

“Who the hell is this?” Bucky growls, surprising Steve. It was on the tip of his tongue to say the very same thing, but he lets Bucky take the lead. Zaara doesn’t appear upset; not exactly. But she’s definitely bothered by this strange and strapping man who just kissed her, his long bangs swept back from his forehead by a leather bandana. He’s handsome, dangerously so, and it doesn’t sit well with Steve. It’s a jealousy of an entirely different sort than what he feels over Bucky and Zaara. No—this is a murderous sort of emotion. _Something like the way I feel for Matt Murdock. Why the hell did he have to kiss her like that? It sure didn’t look like she enjoyed it—thank God._

 

Sensing the dangerous vibes between the three men, Zaara positions herself at the center of them. “Bucky, Steve, this is Remy. Remy LeBeau. Also known as Gambit.”

 

“Bonjour,” Gambit smirks, offering his hand. Steve won’t take it.

 

Zaara rolls her eyes. “Alright. Go to her. We can save the introductions for later.”

 

“Go to . . . Rogue?” Bucky asks, assuming an aggressive stance that reminds her all too much of the Winter Soldier.

 

“Bucky,” Zaara warns.

 

“You know _cher_?” Gambit asks cheekily.

 

“We’ve been tethered,” Bucky’s voice is so soft it sounds positively menacing.

 

“She’s _my_ girl—mon fille,” Gambit smirks and blinks his eyes wide at Steve and Bucky. A fiery red light pulsates through them, sending a deep shiver down both men’s spines. With a rascally grin, the volatile mutant pulls a deck of cards from his jacket and runs his fingers through them. “Why? You two got an interest in her?”

 

Bucky and Steve glance at each other uneasily. “The next time you want to kiss a lady,” Steve uses his Captain America voice, “You'd better make sure you have her permission.”

 

“Steve,” Zaara sighs. “Not now.”

 

“The Danger Room,” Remy smirks. “I’m ready anytime.”

 

“Remy,” Zaara hisses, hating the direction they’re headed. “Let it go.”

 

“Mais non, mon _amour_ ,” the energy projecting mutant demurs. “I think we have something to work out, oui? Before I go to see _cher._ ”

 

“Remy,” Zaara sounds foreboding. “This is Captain America and the Winter Soldier. You’ve heard of them, haven’t you?”

 

“Vraimant?” the mutant called Gambit casually glances back and forth at them, his glowing red eyes assessing each in turn. “It’s not a problem, _amour._ I can handle two at once.”

 

“Don’t you dare,” Zaara glares at both Steve and Bucky now, knowing they’re gearing up for a fight.

 

“Danger Room?” Bucky scoffs, ignoring her while his blue eyes sparkle fiercely and fix on Gambit’s red embers. “Sounds like my kinda place.”

 

Steve, to his credit, backs down. Ignoring Gambit, he locks eyes on Zaara and can tell that she’s furious. With his arm, he stays his friend’s body as he did back in Bucharest when Interpol had them cornered. “Buck. _Don’t_.” Nearly weeping with relief for his loyalty, Zaara throws her arms around him, inadvertently leaving Bucky to stare down Gambit on his own.

 

“He’s made up his mind, Steve,” she murmurs in misery. Steve can feel her chest heaving against his, her heart pounding with stress. “Should I stop him?”

 

“We wanted to keep him away from fighting,” Steve replies quietly, as if the two warring men cannot hear their words.

 

“I know,” she agrees, her voice full of regret. “But I promised not to control Bucky Barnes—only the Winter Soldier. And it's Bucky Barnes talking, alright.”

 

“I’m not lettin’ this clown disrespect you _or_ Rogue,” Bucky practically spits out his words, never taking his eyes off Gambit.

 

“Well,” Zaara gazes at Steve, helpless. “Should I lock him in his room?”

 

“Let ‘em work it out,” Steve insists, his arms tight around her so that he feels a stinging sort of joy even with his enmity towards Gambit. “If LeBeau is gonna stick around, this’ll only drag on.”

 

“Remy. Really?” Zaara pleas, though she makes no move to leave Steve. “You’ve been gone a whole year and you just walked through the door. Do you really want to stir up trouble already? Rogue’ll find out.”

 

“Then she’ll know I fight for her,” Gambit retorts, staring Bucky down with a rascally smirk.

 

“If Bucky gets hold of you, it’s all over,” she warns. “You got no chance, Remy.” _Oh, shit. Now there’s no way he won’t fight._ Her words make Bucky smirk and, to Steve’s dismay, she covers her face with her hands. “I just blew it.” She curses Remy’s telepathic power. It would take a great deal of effort to break through his shield—it’s as tough as Steve’s. The only man she could hope to control at this point is Bucky—and she won’t do it. She can’t. She made a promise.

 

“Danger Room,” Remy growls and stomps off. Bucky follows.

 

Zaara watches for a moment, frozen. Furious with herself, she finally steps out of Steve’s embrace and follows them. He matches her brisk pace and stays close behind her. “Danger Room?”

 

“I, uh, never gave you that part of the tour,” she admits, shamefaced. “I didn’t want Bucky to know about it.”

 

“Is it what I think it is?” Steve asks pointedly.

 

“I can’t read your mind, Bossypants,” she deflects the question. “Not on earth. So you’ll just have to wait and see.” The four of them head up the grand staircase and down a hall Bucky and Steve have not seen before, Gambit scowling all the way. Steve had assumed there were only student rooms in this wing of the mansion, but they pass what appears to be a lounge where kids are playing ping pong and watching television, but the next doorway is marked by a small, severe sign rendered in an old-fashioned font.

 

_Danger Room._

 

A secret panel slides open where Gambit waves his hand over the wall, but the keypad does not respond to his touch. “What happened, _amour_? Did Forge lock me out of the system?”

 

“It’s been more than a year, Remy,” Zaara retorts. “What did you think would happen?”

 

“Aw, just set it up, would you, _amour_?” he begs. “I really need to kick this boy’s ass before I go see _cher._ ”

 

“I know what you did to her,” Bucky’s voice barely sounds over a whisper.

 

“Bucky,” Zaara groans. “Don’t do this.”

 

“You said I can lick him,” Bucky retorts, eyes never leaving Gambit.

 

“He can still do a lot damage,” she entreats. “I _don’t_ want you to fight. _Please_. You’ve been doing so well on your healing. Fighting would only bring back bad memories for you.”

 

“You know me, doll,” he mutters casually while Gambit struggles with the keypad. “I’m a fighter. Always have been.” His nonchalance only makes her feel worse.

 

“It’s true,” Steve interjects, sensing Zaara’s distress. “Bucky won the Golden Gloves back in ’38.”

 

“Right,” she murmurs. “That alone would do Remy in.”

 

“Aw, shush, _amour._ Ouvre la porte, s’il vous plait.” Glaring at her with eyes like glowing embers, Gambit fires everything he’s got in the hopes of swaying her with his unique telepathic mojo.

 

“Don’t bother trying to charm me, Remy,” Zaara grouches, even though she has difficulty warding off his powers of persuasion. _They really are impressive. I totally hate them._ “You’re not gonna let this go, are you? The two of you,” she observes, giving them one last chance. They stare back at her defiantly. Finally, she turns to Steve.

 

“They’d end up damaging the furniture,” he offers. “Storm would be angry. It’s better they fight in a controlled environment.”

 

“Alright,” she agrees bitterly and, after a long pause types her own code into the keypad. He heads right in, but she stops Bucky and grabs him by the arm.

 

“Bucky. Be careful,” she warns.

 

“What’s his deal, doll?” the former Winter Soldier asks nervously, gut clenching like it always does before a fight. Though he has no fear of Gambit, he knows enough to expect the unexpected. He’s fought too many enhanced people by now and Zaara can tell he’s only going through with this because he’s so angry on her behalf. And Rogue’s.

 

Hating to reveal another mutant’s powers, Zaara steels herself. _I’m responsible for you. I can’t let you get hurt._ “Kinetic blasts. But he has to charge an object—living tissue won’t work. Very dangerous from a distance. He also has some mental manipulation. And, uh, superhuman dexterity and agility. And he’s about as strong as you.”

 

Steve frowns.

 

“Great,” Bucky snorts. “Sounds like my kind of guy.”

 

“I won’t let him manipulate you, Bucky,” she reassures him, glancing at Steve meaningfully. “But if you’re gonna do this, you’re on your own. I can put on safety protocols, though.” Both men watch carefully as Zaara selects a program.

 

“There. It’s done,” she pronounces. “Just keep your distance. You gotta dodge those blasts, Bucky. We’ll be watching from the observation deck. Wait’ll Rogue hears about this . . .” she mutters ruefully. Steve follows her up the narrow metal staircase while Bucky circles Gambit like he’s about to murder him, blue eyes cold as ice.

 

The view from upstairs allows Steve to take in the vastness of the X-men’s Danger Room. “I can guess this is why you never showed us this place,” he quips knowingly once Zaara closes the door and finds a good spot to observe them through the plexi-glass.

 

“I hate it,” she frowns. “But we use it for training. A lot.”

 

“Storm still won’t let me sit in on a session,” Steve admits with more than a little regret.

 

“You’re still an Avenger, more or less,” Zaara counters. “Not an X-man. We have strict rules.”

 

“Looks like a good place to train,” he says, not sure what else he ought to say under the circumstances.

 

“It is, but I still hate it,” she shrugs. “And you’d probably be one to turn off safety protocols, anyways.”

 

“You can turn off safety protocols?” he asks, mystified.

 

“The Danger Room is fully digitized,” she explains reluctantly. “Life support protocols keep things from getting too dangerous . . . except when a compete jerk turns it off to test how tough they are.” She stares hard at him.

 

“Gotta push the edge if you wanna improve,” he counters, somehow excited by the flash of anger in her eyes.

 

“Typical,” she says dryly. “Look. They’re getting started.” And indeed, Bucky and Remy circle each other, eyes locked as if they are in some strange, feral staring contest. Finally, Remy flicks his deck of cards into the air and a dozen of them hurtle towards Bucky in a series of small explosions. Zaara knows they’re meant to test his agility and response time and the former Winter Soldier dodges them easily, resorting to horizontal leaps and spins that makes Zaara’s heart clench. _That was close. Too close._ Steve gives a nod of approval.

 

But it doesn’t stop there. Remy launches even more cards and, when Bucky makes a desperate leap to strike, the kinetic mutant executes a series of evasive maneuvers that even manage to impress Steve. “What the hell was that?” he asks, fearing for Bucky.

 

“Ugh, I can’t watch anymore,” Zaara moans and turns away from the monitor, burying her face in Steve’s shoulder. _I love Bucky and Remy is my friend—even if he’s a total jackass. And now they’re trying to kill each other._ Steve wraps his arm around her, trying not to let her closeness distract him from the fight that only continues.

 

Each time Bucky strikes, Gambit evades him with astonishing ease. Steve’s shoulders tense up and he realizes things could end very badly for Bucky if Gambit manages to coordinate his blasts with his evasive maneuvers. Tension floods his body, but his heartbeat remains steady. _Bucky’s figuring him out—he’ll detect a pattern soon. If he speeds it up, if Gambit slips up even for a second, he’s got him._ And indeed, as if prophetic, Bucky finally cracks the code and catches the mutant by the throat. His hold is brutal, efficient, and deadly.

 

Zaara cannot take it anymore. Pushing Steve away, she turns back to face the plexi-glass. With telekinetic force, she violently breaks Bucky’s hold and raises the two of them up high in the air. She lets them hover a good twenty feet above the Danger Room floor. She flicks the switch on the loudspeaker and picks up the microphone. “I ought to bang your heads together, you knuckleheads.” Both men stare at her through the plexi-glass, startled but mute. Steve, wearing much the same expression, gulps in disbelief. She gives all of them the stink eye. “Bunch of dumb alpha-males. I’ve had enough. Bucky, you’re coming back to the suite. Remy—go to Rogue. Then settle yourself in your old room. Stay the hell away from Bucky. And, oh,” she swallows, pausing with dramatic purpose. “Welcome home.”

 

Steve’s heart swells with adoration.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

“So are you still up for our date?” he asks tentatively, eyes so plaintive and hopeful that it tears at her. Bucky is in the bedroom and the children are playing outside. It’s the perfect opportunity, even if she still feels shaken by the arrival of Gambit.

 

 _What the hell._ “Yeah,” she admits softly, biting her lip. “I guess so.”

 

He beams. “I’ll call the restaurant right away. I can book us a private room.”

 

“Private room?” she starts.

 

He blushes and shakes his head. “A private dining room. That way . . .” he explains furtively, “that way no one can disturb us.”

 

“Oh,” Zaara nods slowly, the truth dawning on her. “No interruptions. No kids, no Bucky, no needy mutants asking for this or that . . . I get it. Okay.”

 

“Okay,” he smiles like a kid on Christmas morning. “I’ll make the call.” He runs off to find his cellphone.

 

“Wait!” she shouts after him.

 

“Yeah?” He freezes like he’s been hit by lightning and stares at her so hard it is difficult to see past the happiness in his eyes. “What is it?”

 

“Uh,” she hesitates for he's back at her side so fast it makes her head spin. _Asgardian strength and speed._ “Uh . . .”

 

“Yeah?” he coaxes gently, tilting her chin up so she meets his eyes.

 

“Is it fancy?” her voice sounds barely above a whisper. His fingers feel electric on her skin, stroking her arm so lightly, as if she is made of silk.

 

“Well,” he muses, momentarily distracted by her beauty and the unexpected fragility of her question. “I guess. You’ll probably need a dress.”

 

“A dress,” she repeats automatically, her voice hoarse. Suddenly, she feels helpless. “Steve—I don’t have a dress.”

 

“You don’t have a dress?” he asks in disbelief, and his mind wanders back to Wakanda. _What about that vibranium dress? I know she still has it._ The memory of it makes his blood rush. _No--no way she’d wear that._

 

“No dress,” she admits with a shy vulnerability. “I haven’t worn a dress in years. Except that sorry excuse for a dress T’Challa made me wear in Wakanda. And I am _never_ wearing that rag again.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” he soothes, pulling her close for a warm hug. Somehow, she finds her cheek resting against his broad chest so she can hear his heart beat, her arm curling tight about his slim waist. Breathing in his clean, masculine scent, her nostrils flare and she nearly swoons. _God, I’m devastated. It’s all over. If he knew the way he makes me feel . . . I’d die._ She gives a fake cough and gently shakes herself free.

 

“Maybe I’ll ask Storm,” she mutters, backing away from him. Although he seems disappointed, there is understanding in his eyes. Indeed, she has an inkling that he struggles to control himself around her. An enticing, sexy vibe comes her way and she realizes now that she’s reading him. _Even if we’re going on a date, I’m still not used to all this touching. It was different on Asgard. We’re back on earth now, back to a normal life, whatever the hell that means for people like us. And . . . it’s a big jump._ She looks Steve up and down while he stares back at her curiously.

 

“Okay,” he murmurs and she contemplates the very real possibility of having a boyfriend. _Boyfriend. It sounds so . . . childish or something. But it’s more real to me than that Primara business and it’s what he wants to be to me. He wants that . . . and a whole lot more. And God, he’s so perfect. He’s everything I could ever want._ Remembering what it was like to read his mind back in Freia’s garden, butterflies invade her stomach. Steve rests his eyes upon her like he’s staring at a piece of heaven.

 

Zaara quickly shakes herself out of her stupor. “Yeah. That’s it. I’ll ask Storm. She has dresses. Go make your reservation. It’ll be fine,” she asserts, the sweetness of his smile making her blush hard. He can’t even show her the dignity of turning around as he goes; instead, he walks backwards, eyes brimming with childlike excitement, anticipation, delight. When she enters the bedroom to check on Bucky, the former Winter Soldier wraps his arms around her protectively.

 

“You sure about this, doll?” Bucky murmurs, his lips running through her hair. He knows Steve will smell him there later tonight. _If he gets close enough to smell her hair._

 

“Yeah,” she replies, sounding thoroughly unconvinced.

 

“You don’t have to go through with it, you know,” he chastises. “Steve can handle it if you change your mind. Believe me, he’s handled a lot worse. He can stand to wait a while longer—or never. If you change your mind.”

 

“Bucky,” she lifts her face to meet his. “Not so long ago, you were trying to get Steve to take me out on a date. You pushed him to it.”

 

“I know,” he admits, crestfallen. “That was . . . before.”

 

“Before what?” she cocks an eyebrow.

 

“You know how I feel about you,” he wrinkles his brow, not wanting to say the words. “Can’t just surrender you to someone else—even if it is Steve. What the hell happened in Asgard, anyways? You’re keeping something from me.”

 

“I know,” she agrees sadly. “I learned a lot of weird things there, Bucky. All these things they want me to be—all their expectations about who I am, how I’m supposed to . . . behave. But it’s not who I am. I’ve gotta be myself. Steve knows it, too. But I just want to forget about it now.”

 

“That why you going on a date with him?” Bucky presses on bitterly.

 

“I know how Steve feels about me,” she cries back, wanting so badly for him to understand even though she can barely explain it to herself. All she knows is that it’s time. _It’s the right time. And it’s the right thing to do._ “And they told me I’m supposed to be with a man. That I can give this a chance, Bucky. I . . . I just have to. I . . . want to. I’m sorry.”

 

He nods silently and pulls her close, kissing the top of her head again. “It’s alright, doll. I understand. I’m here for you no matter what. You know that. I’ll even wait up for you tonight.”

 

She gives him a small smile, trying to ignore the pull of desire that makes her insides tremble with exquisite longing that can come whenever she is close to him with his pale skin, dark stubble, and ebony locks. It happens more often now, this feeling, and it coils deep down in her gut in a way that seems positively obscene. _Ugh, I can’t be like those girls in the garden, making out with all those men at the same time and not caring who knows it. I can’t. I love Bucky, but I can’t be with Steve and feel this way about Bucky at the same time. How can I want them both, damnit?_

 

_Are you not woman enough to know?_

 

The Freia maiden’s voice echoes in her memory, making her flinch even while Bucky keeps stroking her, soothing her, giving her all the comfort he can.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

When she settles on a figure-hugging, wraparound dress from Storm’s closet, she falls into a panic. Rogue is with her, tying the drawstring around her waist. The minimalist frock doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Its deep purple complements Zaara’s eyes and the fabric lovingly accentuates each and every curve. Zaara is forced to wear a demi-bra that covers a lot less than she’d like. Rogue murmurs something about dressing to kill, but Zaara doesn’t feel like a hunter. If anything, this dress makes her feel more like prey. The skirt ends just above the knee and the three-quarter length sleeves leave her forearms largely bare. The whole effect accentuates her breasts and hips, the deep purple contrasting with her creamy skin. Rogue tells her she’s a knockout, but that’s not exactly the look she’s going for. Steve, who always seems ravenous for her affection, doesn’t require any encouragement. Still, unless she wants to go shopping, she’s stuck borrowing from her friends and the pickings are slim. Almost none of the X-women wear dresses anymore.

 

Bucky sees her first. He’s been pacing up and down outside her door, stopping every so often to play with the children, but he can’t shake her worries from his mind. Anxiety over the dress spills over into his consciousness and only adds to his discontent. He knows he has no right to claim Zaara as his own and probably never will; not with what’s happened in his life and all the bad things he’s done. He tells himself that if any man would be good enough for her, it would undoubtedly be Steve. Still, he cannot quell his rancor. He’d do anything for Zaara and the children—anything. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, to see her through the stress of getting ready for a date with his best friend, to wait up all night until she’s home safe to sleep by his side. But when Zaara steps out of her room in that tight purple dress, his throat goes dry and it’s all he can do not to sweep her into his arms and carry her to the bed, slamming the door shut with his heel.

 

But he doesn’t do that. He only stands there, staring. Gaping. Rogue follows her out, a knowing look in her eyes. She gives Bucky a wink. Zaara smooths away imaginary creases up and down the sides of her body with her palms. For a brief moment, Bucky sees himself through her eyes and realizes his jaw is hanging open. Promptly, he shuts it tight and nods a hello her way. “Hey, Bucky,” she replies, looking adorably vulnerable.

 

_Steve is gonna eat you up, you lookin’ like that, doll. I better make sure he keeps his hands to himself._

_What can you possibly say without sounding like you’re my dad?_ She snorts in her mind.

 

Rogue, observing their silent exchange, chuckles to herself. “I’ll just go see about the children, you two. Try not to kill Steve when he comes to the door, alright Bucky?”

 

He harrumphs.

 

When Rogue leaves, he comes closer and takes Zaara in his arms, as if she belongs to him. “You sure about this, doll? You don’t have to go through with it.”

 

“We talked about this, Bucky,” she says steadily. _Why do I feel like I’m betraying him?_ “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard on you.”

 

 _I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve . . . this._ He looks her up and down, his face flushed with unspoken regret. Zaara can only pull him into her arms in a full embrace. He melts to feel that curvy body against his own.

 

“Bucky,” she whispers, letting him hear her thoughts out loud. “You are a good man. You deserve _all_ of this. All of it.” And she kisses the side of his mouth quite deliberately. To her chagrin, the contact is not as innocent as she intended. Her lips linger, tickled by the bristles on his cheek and she realizes he really has stopped shaving. In fact, he hasn’t shaved since she left for Asgard. The hard muscles of his body are like a wall against her and she feels that same desire deep in her bones.

 

Catching his breath, he knows he’d better get some distance. He removes her arms from his shoulders and clasps her by the elbows, grieving the loss of the softness of her breasts against his hard chest. “Doll.”

 

“Do you _want_ me to skip it?” she breathes nervously. “I won’t go if you don’t want me to. I don’t want to hurt you. I care about you, Bucky. So much.”

 

Shutting his eyes, he grimaces. “Nah,” he says, though he sounds as if he’s doesn’t mean it. “You go, doll. Steve’ll take good care of you.”

 

“Okay,” she nods, a pang in her chest. “Okay.” The next moment, they hear a knock at the door. “Now why would he bother knocking?” Zaara mutters to herself, rolling her eyes.

 

“He’s old fashioned,” Bucky cracks a grin. “He likes to show a lady respect.”

 

Zaara huffs and heads for the door. “Steve,” she whines just before she pulls it open, but she freezes. Standing tall in form-fitting dress pants with a pebbled leather jacket, Steve presents her with the most beautiful bouquet of peonies she has ever seen in her life. With a shy smile that is nearly hidden behind the sweet-smelling flowers, his eyes widen and he appears half-afraid. His hair is combed to perfection, long on the top in that jaunty way that always reminds her of the 1940s. Though he wears no tie, his dress shirt stretches tight across his chest and is buttoned up almost to the very top. Zaara finds herself mute. “Uh, thanks,” she finally whispers and takes the flowers from him. A moment passes before she heads back inside the suite, determined to find a vase so she can keep the gorgeous blossoms alive as long as possible. Steve, however, remains outside the door.

 

“Hey, doll,” Bucky grins in spite of himself. “You’d better invite him in or he’ll stand out there all night.”

 

Zaara lets out a hearty laugh. “Steve! You _live_ here. What are you doing, standing outside the door?”

 

“Tryin’ to be polite,” Bucky smirks. “Thinks it’ll get him what he wants.”

 

“Oh, shush,” Zaara rolls her eyes for the second time that evening. Steve still seems hesitant to step inside, so she lays the flowers down and marches right back to him. “Come on,” she says in an exasperated tone and drags him by the elbow. “Now let me get some water before they die of thirst.”

 

“You . . . You look beautiful,” Steve manages to speak while he stands awkwardly next to the couch, as if he really is her guest. His eyes linger upon her purple figure-hugging frock and he feels profoundly grateful Zaara went to the effort of finding it. _Dresses suit her. She should wear them every day._ With his Asgardian eyesight, he can even make out the familiar pink glow of her skin. It seems brighter than usual. Suddenly, an idea seizes him. _Could Zaara have been glowing all along and I can only see it now ‘cause I ate that fruit back in Asgard?_ He allows himself the luxury of contemplating it, savoring the way her body moves in that deep purple slip of a dress.

 

“Hey, punk,” Bucky is the next person to roll his eyes while he issues instructions. “Back by midnight; otherwise I send out a search-party of one. That’d be me. And I won’t be in a good mood.”

 

Steve barely acknowledges it, for Zaara has him hypnotized while she searches for a vase and fills it with water. Carefully arranging the peonies until they form a lavish and fluffy floral halo, she places them reverently upon a side table before taking a long sniff of their sumptuous perfume. “Hey,” she muses absently, momentarily distracted by the bounty before her, the airy petals reminding her of the beauty in Freia’s garden. “How’d you know peonies are my favourite?”

 

“Bucky,” Steve murmurs, as if he can barely speak. The purple dress is far too distracting.

 

“You told him?” she asks in amusement, eyes resting on the former Winter Soldier.

 

His jealousy slightly abated, Bucky nods conspiratorially. “See, doll? I’m not out to kill him after all.”

 

She huffs and takes the opportunity to march over to Steve and tug at his arm. “Let’s go. If we move fast, we can sneak out before the kids get back.”

 

Suddenly, Steve is roused from his stupor. “Where are they? Don’t you wanna kiss them good night?” He knows he would like to. Very much.

 

Squeezing his hand, she shuts him down. “They’re in the garden with Rogue. And I know for a fact Ellie was planning on making a scene tonight because we just got back from Asgard. I’ll kiss them when we get home, when they’re asleep. Otherwise, it’ll be an hour before we get out that door.”

 

“Oh. Alright,” Steve succumbs with a great deal of regret, oddly jealous of the fact that Zaara has had years of bedtime routines and goodnight kisses under her belt. He knows he can’t take such things for granted. It’s become a favourite part of his day, but he will give it up just this once to take Zaara out on the town. _Our first date,_ he thinks to himself, the wonder and excitement of it overwhelming him. _It’s been a long time coming._

 

“Back by midnight, punk,” Bucky carps, playful menace in his voice.

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve cocks an eyebrow, though his attention is still absorbed by Zaara who practically drags him out the door. Bucky follows along anxiously. But when he steps over the threshold, the former Winter Soldier remains stock-still, blue eyes brittle and glittering hard as the two of them disappear down the hall. Zaara adjusts their tether and gently extends it over to Rogue who is on her way back with the children.

 

Gathering his wits at last, Steve wraps his arm around Zaara’s shoulders (much as he did in Asgard) and takes the lead since her steps are hesitant, her manner unsure. Now that they have left the suite, her confidence wanes. Wanting her to feel safe and comfortable, Steve gives her a hopeful smile to let her know he’ll take care of her every need. “Try to relax, sweetheart. I promise I’ll show you a good time,” he says softly and she gives him a half-smile. They take the elevator down to the secret passageway that leads to the garage. Marching right up to their usual black Mercedes, he opens the door. “Ma’am--our ride.”

 

“Uh-uh,” Zaara snorts and shakes her head, surprising him. “I thought this was a date.”

 

“It _is_ a date,” he replies defensively, detecting a peculiar gleam in her eye. “Is something wrong?”

 

“We don’t have to take the Mercedes,” she protests, gazing upon the massive black vehicle like it’s the most boring thing on earth. The kids’ car seats in the back make it look profoundly  unsexy. “I thought you wanted tonight to be special.”

 

“I do,” he closes the door and stands tall. “What did you have in mind?”

 

“Well,” she hems, trying to restrain her smile even though he’s looking so handsome in his pebbled leather jacket and form-fitting dress pants. It’s terribly distracting. She can hardly believe they’re finally going on a date and this tall, incredibly robust man is staring at her with sheer adoration in his eyes. Clearing her throat, she cocks an eyebrow playfully. “You know we have our pick of the fleet. Storm doesn’t mind.”

 

“Oh?” he asks, taking a brief survey of the all-terrain vehicles, trucks, and sports cars. There are three more luxury sedans like the Mercedes, but that’s about it. He hasn’t really bothered to pay it any mind since the day she gave him the tour. _What is she getting at?_

 

“So,” she hems, having to admit she enjoys keeping him in suspense. “You might have thought of it yourself.”

 

“Thought of what?” he asks, cheeks reddening. There’s something about Zaara’s sauciness that pushes him over the edge. That and the way that purple dress accentuates her spectacular curves is driving him wild with desire. _She’s so beautiful—almost too beautiful for the likes of me. I can hardly stand it. I gotta keep it together or we won’t be driving anywhere tonight._

 

“Yeah,” she breathes, moving closer and sensing the rush of feelings flowing through him. To her chagrin, she notices she can read him now that his ardor is piqued. It seems to happen whenever his feelings turn amorous. _More distractions. Why can I only read his mind when he’s having feelings for me? So weird. It’s almost like a handicap or something._ “I just, uh, never . . .”

 

“Never what?” he asks boldly, coming closer. They’re within touching distance now and it is all he can do to keep his hands to himself. Her skin shines with a soft pink light, but it seems to be throbbing with a new intensity.

 

She bursts into girlish giggles at the naughty thoughts rushing through her mind. The idea of having Steve’s hands all over her is titillating, to say the least. “Never ridden a motorcycle before.”

 

His jaw drops for the second time that evening. “Motorcycle?” And he laughs along with her, but gently. He can tell it’s no joke. She means it.

 

When her laughter finally fades, she tries to focus. _We need to drive to the restaurant. Check._ “We have two. Two motorcycles.”

 

“Oh, yeah?” he asks, turning away and it is all she can do not to grab him and pull him right back close again. Those dress pants show off his physique to perfection, his taut buttocks and masculine thighs make a perfect picture. _God could not design a man more gorgeous than Steve Rogers._ And that pebbled leather jacket with its wide lapels makes her want to snuggle right into him and bury her face in his snug dress shirt, the way it stretches out over the broad musculature of his chest only egging her on more. But Steve doesn’t seem to notice. He surveys the room until he spots two motorbikes parked at the center between the many cars and trucks. “Well,” he muses good naturedly. “I’ll take you on a bike, but only on two conditions.”

 

“Okay,” she replies cautiously. “What are they?”

 

“You wear a helmet,” he commands, heading for the bikes so he can take stock. “And you ride with me—not on your own.”

 

“I can’t take my own bike?” she asks in dismay. “But there’s two of them.”

 

“Too dangerous,” he counters, not dignifying her concern for he’s too busy assessing the size and capabilities of the motorcycles. A cursory glance doesn’t offer much on the differences between them. “You’d need a lesson. So tonight, you ride behind me.”

 

Zaara groans. “Alright. Just this once. Next time, I get my own.”

 

“Next time,” he chirps cheerfully, having settled on one. It’s the larger one, though he’s not certain of its combat capabilities. It boasts many mysterious knobs and buttons, but he tells himself it doesn’t matter. _We’re just going for a ride. We’re not fighting Hydra or storming a base. It’s enough to get us to the restaurant on time. Besides—it has the bigger seat._ “Here.” He tosses a helmet at her and she catches it, gasping at its weight. Steve doesn’t even notice since he’s already kicked up the stand and is pushing the heavy bike towards the door, though with his new strength it feels light as a feather. Zaara scoops up a second helmet without him noticing and carries them rather awkwardly as she follows a few steps behind, biting her lip while she enjoys the view.

 

 _This bloody helmet is totally going to ruin my blowout,_ she thinks _. But I don’t think he cares about my hair. He was too busy looking everywhere else. Lord knows I can barely keep my eyes off his man parts._ When they go outside and her body encounters the night wind, she shivers and remembers that even though she has no jacket, she will probably end up feeling rather warm, after all.

 

“Helmet on,” Steve commands in a tone that won’t tolerate dissent.

 

Zaara purses her lips tight. “Fine, Bossypants,” she concedes. “But you, too.” She hands him the other helmet.

 

Sighing like a martyr, he takes it from her. “Alright.” She tries not to giggle while he winces and jams it over his head. “Hop on.” Zaara eyes the bike with trepidation. The seat seems plenty large enough for the two of them, but she’s in an over-the-knee, wrap-around dress with a slit over her left leg. Having found it just a little bit sexy but not overly suggestive, she loved it at first, but now it makes her hesitate. Steve, ever the clueless one, teases her playfully. “Thought you wanted to ride a motorcycle.”

 

She narrows her eyes at him. “I do.” And in true ballerina fashion, she swings her leg up high over the bike so she can straddle the seat quite neatly, the dress parting to expose her left thigh nearly all the way up to her panties. Steve gulps in shock. Enjoying this little bit of power over him, she innocently fiddles with the straps on her helmet.

 

 _That’s it._ “Wait.” Steve whips his own helmet off and brushes his fingers through his hair. Coming closer, he bends down and plants a wet kiss upon her lips. _I gotta kiss you now, doll, or I’m gonna die. Can’t wait any longer._

 

“Mmm . . . Captain,” she murmurs, but he only deepens the kiss.

 

“Been waiting to kiss you like this ever since we left Asgard,” he finally admits, his lips still in contact with hers when he speaks. Taking a seat next to her on the bike, he keeps talking. “Almost hated leaving because I could kiss you there whenever I liked, touch you like this . . .” And Zaara is rendered helpless. She can only pull him closer as his hips swivel to face her, even though he keeps both feet planted firmly on the ground. Finally, she pulls away.

 

“Captain,” she chortles, for his gaze looks as if he’s about to tear her clothes off right here on the bike. “I thought you were taking me to dinner. Besides,” she adds knowingly, “Little eyes are watching.” And indeed, some of the younger students are peering at them through the mansion windows, giggling and pointing.

 

“Yes ma’am,” Steve swiftly rises, all business again. Pulling his helmet back on, he swings his leg over the bike, being careful not to hit Zaara, and revs up. Zaara wraps her arms around him and the rumbles hit her hard. They reverberate all the way up her spine and down between her legs and she finds herself in a rather erotic frame of mind as she straddles the seat, her body pressing against his back and legs. It’s heaven to hold Steve this way, all pretense abandoned. Months have passed and longing has started to consume her. Having spent so much time and energy denying herself, it is blissful indeed to simply be with him, touching each other like any couple in love. The motorcycle speeds down empty country roads, the sun has set, and she feels the wind blowing through her hair even with her helmet on.

 

Steve doesn’t speak. He grips the handles of the bike until his knuckles turn white, but nothing breaks. Somehow, he remembers his Asgardian strength and reins it in. He thanks his stars Zaara can’t read him here on earth, that there’s no way she can know how he stiffens in his pants. The recitation of old baseball statistics or keeping careful eye on the road barely distracts him from his heightened state of arousal. Clenching his jaw, he tries to ignore the way her arms cling to him, the way her thighs press into his own, cupping his ass between her legs where, every now and then, he can feel her pubic bone bump against him at a dip in the road. Though he can’t feel the hotness of her breath through his thick, pebbled leather jacket, wisps of her hair tickle his cheek as it whips back and forth against the wind. His teeth grate over his bottom lip while he admonishes himself to stay in control. Thankfully, by the time they reach the restaurant, his body calms down somewhat. Perhaps it’s nerves; this is finally their first date and he doesn’t want to blow it. He parks the bike and hops off, trying not to stare at her exposed thigh, its pink glow beckoning him. “Well,” he asks as he shakes his head free of the annoying helmet. “How did you like your first ride?”

 

Zaara removes her own helmet. “I liked it,” she admits shyly, smiling at the practiced way he runs his fingers through his hair, trying to smooth out the mess. She shakes her own hair out, but makes no move to get up.

 

“Good,” he grins adorably. “Well, are you gonna come inside or are we gonna stay out here all night?”

“Depends. Would you help me off this thing?” she counters with a smirk. “I, uh, can’t exactly climb in this dress. Unless you want me to try . . .”

 

“Oh, no. Of, of course not,” he stutters, trying to tear his eyes away from her exposed thigh. Zaara smiles sweetly and raises her arms. Taking the cue, he lifts her up by her armpits until her dress drops down smoothly to cover her thighs once more. He places her gently on the ground and she rests her hands upon his shoulders, breathing her sweet breath upon him and he swears her pink glows brightens for a moment, though she does not see it herself.

 

“Thanks,” she whispers, and he cannot resist. He bends down to kiss her with a new hunger, almost giving a sob of despair when she pulls away. “Captain,” she chastises in a shaky voice, barely able to stop herself. “Making out in a parking lot? Pretty romantic for a first date, huh?”

 

“Sorry. I’m sorry!” he begs her forgiveness and goes red with embarrassment.

 

“It’s alright, Steve,” she laughs. “Don’t feel bad. Please. We both lost a little control there.”

 

“Sorry,” he apologizes again.

 

“Come on.” To his surprise, she takes his hand in hers rather chastely and pulls him away from the motorcycle.

 

Seated inside a rather intimate dining room which boasts a bay window overlooking the rushing waters of a gorge, Zaara stares at Steve as if she sees him for the first time. His face is simply radiant. Water thunders over the rocks outside and she cuddles close to him on the shared banquette, giving a slight shiver. The old windows rattle slightly and she can almost feel the cool dampness of the stream spray over her bare throat and forearms. Steve obligingly settles in close to her, trying not to jump when she rests her hand upon his knee. “By the way, did I tell you that you look beautiful tonight?” he asks.

 

“Well . . . Probably,” Zaara ruminates, uncertain how to respond. Whenever he feels amorous towards her, it’s as if she can read his mind again. She knew the motorcycle ride was torture for him, though the knowledge only excited her further. Besides being who he is, and everything she could ever love in a man, Steve is the fleshly embodiment of all that is masculine. It makes her burn with desire. Keeping her banter light despite their physical proximity, she chuckles ruefully. “That’s a real conversation starter, Steve. Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself.

 

Unabashed, he puts his hand over hers. “I’ve waited a long time for this.”

 

“I know,” she acknowledges softly. The waiter fills their glasses, pronouncing the complicated name of a very fancy French wine. _At least I can recognize consommé,_ Zaara sighs to herself when the first course immediately follows.

 

“What is it?” Steve gives in to curiosity and addresses the waiter. The two of them banter on for a while _en francais_ while Zaara patiently waits. He gives Zaara a full translation, though there is no need.

 

“Hmmm . . .” she muses. “I think I’m just going to sit back and enjoy the ride and not worry about where everything’s from. It all smells amazing.”

 

“Good plan,” he nods with approval. “Cheers?”

 

And she raises her glass to his. “Cheers.”

 

They sip and smile at each other, Steve’s mind wandering back to their kiss in the parking lot. His cheeks flush at the thought of it and his pupils darken. “Zaara,” he asks, his voice deep and husky. “You sure you can’t read my mind anymore?”

 

Cackling, Zaara puts down her wine and considers how much she should let him know. _He’d be embarrassed as hell if he knew I can tell when he’s turned on, that I can read all the things he wants to do to me._ “I’m sure I’m not reading your _mind_ , Steve. So—if you’re thinking about the children or the school or anything like that, just know that kind of talk is not allowed tonight. Not if this is a date. Got it?”

 

“Got it,” he agrees, forcing his thoughts away from the children. He has to, or else his mind will linger on them even with his excitement at being with Zaara. It was a real struggle to leave them tonight. They’ve barely been home two days and he misses them terribly. But he’s not about to blow this chance. He’s waited so long.

 

“Not much left to talk about, I guess,” she murmurs, glancing down at her napkin with regret.

 

“We just travelled to another dimension,” he offers earnestly. “That’s something.”

 

She sighs. “Yeah. But I’d kind of like to put Asgard out of my mind,” she shrugs apologetically. “It wasn’t easy for me.”

 

“I know,” he hems. “Sorry about that.” But he comes up with an idea. “What about the house in Brooklyn? How’s that going?”

 

She gives him a wide smile. _That feels better._ “Should be closing on it soon—maybe in the next month. Most of the liens have been cleared and the agent’s optimistic it’ll all be settled. He left me a dozen e-mails. You know, when I finally get this house, I’ll have a whole host of new problems.”

 

“The kind of problems you’d like to have?” he asks hopefully.

 

“Sure,” she laughs. “Home ownership. Painting, updating the fixtures—without changing the historic parts of the house. I don’t know about furniture shopping, though. I find that most daunting of all.”

 

“How’s that?” he asks in genuine curiosity.

 

“Henry,” she replies ruefully. “I can’t ever look at furniture the same way again. All I see when I look at a couch is him climbing on it, jumping on it, leaping over it, turning it upside and building a fort . . .” She gives a bitter laugh. “Furniture isn’t just for sitting anymore. It never will be in again. Not in my life. You know the drill.”

 

“I do,” he smiles brightly, without a trace of bitterness or irony. “That kid’s something else. But I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about the kids?”

 

“You’re right,” she admits, shame-faced. Conversation comes to a lull while they enjoy the second course. By now, Zaara sips her third glass of wine. For a woman who really doesn’t drink, it’s getting a little challenging not to sway back and forth on the banquette. Gripping one of the large velvet cushions for support, she changes topic. “By the way,” she says. “I got a voicemail from Matt. He wants to come over and see us soon. Turns out they’ve made some progress on Bucky’s case.”

 

“Oh.” Steve’s face grows dark and Zaara can see he doesn’t like it—not at all. A ripple runs up and down her spine as she recalls that particular expression. _The party on Asgard—all those men looking at me. He’s going Primara again—as if needs to protect me from Matt._

 

“Steve,” she grasps his forearm earnestly. “Matt’s a good man. I said it before and I’ll say it again. He’s just trying to help.”

 

“I know,” Steve practically growls. “It’s just . . . After what happened on Asgard, I get these feelings about you . . .”

 

“You told me you had feelings for me _before_ we went to Asgard,” she points out gently. “And I’m on a date with you right now. Isn’t that enough? Or is this that _Primara_ business again?”

 

“Maybe,” he admits, clamping up as the waiter pours them yet another glass of wine and mutters something in French. “The next course will be here in a minute,” Steve translates, trying to be helpful again.

 

“Not sure where I can pack it all away,” she chuckles, patting her belly. She lowers her voice. “Steve, I know we’ve . . . bonded. But you don’t need to protect me here. We’re not in Asgard anymore.” But some part of her cannot help but feel that he does. There’s always been something about Matt Murdock. _Steve sensed it before. He nearly snarled when I said Matt’s name. I’ve got to be careful now . . . after Asgard._

 

“Could Foggy come without him?” Steve asks hopefully.

 

“They’re a team,” she protests and he lowers his gaze down to the sumptuous feast before them, despondent. It pulls at her heart and she wonders at the strange, new bond between them since she really cannot bear to see him unhappy. _It could even be magical,_ she realizes. _There’s so much I don’t_ _understand_. _Freia taught me that_. “Look,” she finally manages to speak even though her heart flutters. “Would it help if  . . . if I did this?” Her hand crawls up his arm, cupping his rock-hard bicep and turning his body towards her so she can plant a single, sweet kiss upon his lips. It feels simple and caring, with just a hint of promise. He receives it with a good deal of surprise and an immediate shot of arousal.

 

“Mmm . . .” he sighs, drinking her in. “It would. Would help even more if you did it again.” So she plants her mouth over his in another chaste kiss that has him reaching around to take her fully in his arms.

 

“Steve,” she giggles, turning her face away as the waiter returns.

 

“Right,” he nods, glancing down with guilt and feeling a tiny bit sorry for the staff. Indeed, Zaara can read it in their minds. Though they are somewhat amused by amorous couples, it gets tedious after a time. Without a word, Zaara and Steve resolve to be better diners and to continue their meal in peace. By the fourth course, she feels bloated and drowning in a sea of culinary bliss. French cuisine quickly becomes her new favorite and Steve savors each and every expression when she takes a bite. He explains that he experienced the real thing back during the war and it’s an immense pleasure to witness her first exposure. “I gotta take you to France one day, sweetheart.”

 

“Mm,” she agrees, her mouth full. Chewing for a moment, she swallows, smiles, and notes his soft blush. “Sounds romantic.”

 

“Well, it’s supposed to be. But I can’t really say that I experienced that side of it,” he admits. “I was only there during the war. But even in the war, there were one or two places left in the countryside where the food tasted like heaven. This place reminds me of them. I’d sure love to take you there, see what it’s like without a war going on. I’ve heard it’s real nice . . .”

 

“I would love to see it,” she nods, her mouth full again. They enjoy yet another course before she feels ready to broach a certain subject. “Steve?”

 

“Yeah?” he asks, having just tasted an exquisite new red wine. He feels relaxed, warm, and sexy.

 

“I had something I wanted to ask you about,” she confesses. Tipsy but still in control of herself, she prays she will choose the right words.

“Ask away,” he seems entirely non-plussed.

 

“It’s about Bucky,” she quickly blurts. “About . . . what things will be like if you and I continue . . . this.”

 

“This?” he asks, sitting up straighter. An electric shock flashes down his spine and into his groin. “You mean, us? Getting serious? I know Bucky has feelings about that but . . . Isn’t it something that should be between the two of us?”

 

“Well, normally I’d agree with you,” she concedes. “But our situation is . . . unique.”

 

“I know,” he concurs.

 

“Besides,” she adds. “You’ve got to re-connect with him after Asgard. The two of you have been so distant since we got home.”

 

“I know,” he admits with dismay. “But it’s only been a couple days. It’s hard for him to accept us being together. And it’s hard for me to put it off any longer.”

 

“We’re not together . . . Not yet,” she says saucily, tossing her hair. “But Bucky’s your best friend.”

 

“Speaking of Bucky, do you want to tell me more about this _Secondara_ business from Asgard?” he asks pointedly. “I mean, is there anything to it?”

 

She frowns. _God, his instincts are dead on._ “I told you—Asgard is off limits. At least for tonight,” she adds coolly, relieved to avoid the question even if she is getting rather drunk. “But you haven’t answered my question. What can you do to mend things with Bucky?”

“Dunno,” he shrugs. “And I’m not exactly sure what needs to be mended. First, he pushes me to date you, now he acts like I’m betraying him.”

 

“Yes,” she agrees solemnly “It’s . . . difficult for him. He has feelings for me, too. It’s understandable. I’m the only woman he’s been close to in seventy years. It was bound to be this way.”

 

“And what about you? You have feelings for him.” It is not a question.

 

“Of course I care about him. I’ve told you before. It’s a bit of a mess. I admit it. And I’m confused. But I’m on this date with you, and that’s a big thing in and of itself. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it,” she confesses.

 

Her words seem to satisfy him and he puts his hand over hers, suddenly remembering his conversation with Natasha. “I thought you should know—I got a phone call today.”

 

“A phone call?” she asks skeptically. “Who would call your new cell phone anyways? It’s a secure line.”

 

“Wasn’t my new phone,” he cocks an eyebrow. “It was the one I gave Stark.”

 

“Who was it?” she asks cautiously.

 

“Natasha,” he replies, as if it were self-evident.

 

“What’d she want?” Curiosity overwhelms her. “Is she gonna get you back in the Avengers?”

 

“No,” he chuckles darkly. “Not that. But she told me I need to go to downtown to the bank. Turns out there’s a safe deposit box in my name. Never heard of it before. It’s from ’42 and the bank is cleaning house. They published a list of unclaimed assets. Nat found my name on it, says I better go check it out.”

 

“Safe deposit box?” Zaara muses. “Sounds important. Are you sure it’s yours?”

 

“Doubt it, actually,” he shakes his head. “I have a pretty good memory. And I didn’t have much money back then, anyways. If I did have anything to put in a safe, I’d have gone to a bank in Brooklyn. I’m sure this is a dead end, but Nat insists I look into it, so I promised her I would.”

 

“Hmph,” Zaara snorts. “What’s Natasha Romanov doing reading lists of unclaimed assets?”

 

Steve grins. “Said it was a habit of hers. She’s found a lot of money for people that way. Old fashioned spy stuff, I guess.”

 

An idea occurs to Zaara, even while she imagines tracing her lips down his throat, right over the spot where his thick Adam’s apple juts out. “Hey, why don’t you take Bucky to the bank with you? Go out on the town together. I can put him on a long-distance tether so you won’t have to worry. You can take the motorbikes if you like. Might be good for the two of you to spend some time together—without me.” She speaks firmly, as if she has made up her mind, but wonders if she sounds like some drunken lunatic proclaiming their wisdom out on the streets.

 

“Long distance tether . . .” Steve scratches his jaw, not at all bothered by her manner of speaking. “What’s that all about?”

 

“I’ve been talking it over with Forge,” she explains, fighting a tendency to slur her words. A few more sexual images pop into her mind and she’s not sure whether they came from Steve or from her own drunken desire. “With his tech, we can amplify the telepathic signal and give Bucky some freedom. It’d be something like a mobile version of Cerebro—exclusive to the two of us, of course.”

 

Steve grimaces. “Doubt he’d come. Look how much he hated to be away from you when we went to Asgard. Thought he might murder me when I told him I’d be taking you out on a date tonight. And,” he glances down at his watch. “I only have ‘til midnight before he turns into a pumpkin.”

 

She laughs. “I don’t care what he feels for me, Steve. _You’re_ the one he needs most, even if you don’t know it. Remember, I read his mind day and night. He’d have never made it this far without you.”

 

The truth hits him hard, like a stone. After a moment, he collects himself. “He cares about you, you know. Loves you,” he admits, somewhat bitterly. “This is killing him.”

 

“All good reasons for us _not_ to date,” she says softly, but she entwines her fingers in his all the same. “You sure you want this, Steve?”

 

He takes a deep breath before he makes his confession. “More than anything.” He seals his words with a slow, feathery kiss that teases a wild yearning from her body. “Waiter—check please.”

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

After a seven-course meal with at least as many glasses of wine and liqueurs, Zaara feels stuffed and terribly giddy. By the fourth or fifth hiccup, Steve has no doubt she is drunk. _Bucky’s gonna kill me._ He walks her to the bike, full of worry and uncertain as to whether she’ll be able to sit up straight and hold onto him while he drives home. By now, she is slumping so hard against him he actually picks her up in his arms and carries her back to the motorcycle. “Mmm, Captain,” she moans. “So romantic. Are we gonna make out in the parking lot again?”

 

Steve blushes. He turns away from the parking lot, vainly hoping it will give her a chance to sober up a bit. Carrying her towards the gorge, he stops in front of the old stone wall. “Zaara—can you see it?” he asks while she shivers. It’s completely dark by now and near eleven o’clock. She has no jacket and the cool spring air isn’t doing her any favours so he begins a complicated maneuver to pull off his own jacket while holding her up. She assists him by leaning against the stone, but when he releases her for a moment, she nearly slides over the edge into the water. “Whoah!” he panics. “Got you!” Both his hands wrap around her waist, his forearms resting upon the ample curve of her hips so she relaxes back into him.

 

“Oh, Captain. You saved me,” she breathes, half-relieved, half cackling with laughter. “How can I ever thank you enough?” She commences to throw herself on him and kiss him sloppily. Though her mouth feels somewhat slurpy by now, she doesn’t hold back and, as messy as it is, Steve cannot deny he enjoys it and wants more so he returns the kiss in full. His better self soon steps in, however, and he gently but insistently pushes her away. “What’s wrong?” she gasps, drowning in sensuous feeling, his mouth over hers. Her body is practically singing and tingling with arousal.

 

“Can’t do this,” he mutters, his voice raspy. _No matter how much I want to._ “Zaara, you’re drunk. I’ve gotta take you home.”

 

“Home,” she repeats, fixated on him. It’s so dark that the gorge is barely visible by moonlight, but somehow she can still make out the blue of his eyes, pupils wide with desire. “Yes. We can kiss more there.”

 

Laughing, he sweeps her up in his arms and carries her back to the bike. When he puts her down, she nearly stumbles, but catches herself on the seat. “Oops, looks like I still need your help, Bossypants. Take me home.”

 

“My pleasure, ma’am,” he murmurs and lifts her up by the armpits once again, as if she were a child. Placing her carefully upon the seat, he maneuvers himself onto the bike while keeping one hand on her body at all times. “You sure you won’t fall off while we’re driving, darling? You’ve got me worried.”

 

“Mmm, Captain . . .” she closes her eyes and clamps his muscular buttocks between her thighs. After a moment, she shakes her head. “Class five mutant,” she hiccups and laughs. “Don’t worry about me.”

 

“You’re a _drunk_ class five mutant,” he counters, cricking his neck toward her. “Never shoulda let you drink all that wine.”

 

“I _loved_ it,” she insists. “The food and company, both. They matched each other—perfectly. So kiss me again, Captain. I’m yours.” Her wanton banter only makes the blood pump even faster through his veins. Leaning back, he kisses her from his seat at the front of the motorcycle.

 

“Still worried about you, though,” he mutters between her many sloppy kisses. “Can’t have you falling off.”

 

She gives an exasperated sigh. “If you’re so worried, I’ll just have to take charge myself.” And with that, before he can start the engine or even grab their helmets, the motorcycle takes to the air.

 

“Zaara!?” he cries, aghast. It is pitch black with not even half a moon in the sky and only a few twinkling stars to light their way. His stomach tells him they are gaining elevation at an alarming rate and he whips one arm behind him to hold her safe on the bike. “Stop! Don’t do this!”

 

With a wicked cackle, she clamps her legs around him even tighter. “Don’t worry, Bossypants. I can totally fly on my own—unless I puke. But I shouldn’t; not if I’m riding something. I don’t get sick that way. I always wanted to try flying on a broomstick. But a motorcycle—this is pretty cool. Who ever flew a motorcycle before? Wish I’d tried it sooner. Hiccup!” And with a good deal of drunken lurching, they soar even higher.

 

“Zaara,” Steve says loudly, trying to keep his cool and painfully aware he is speaking to a very drunk woman. “Can you maintain elevation? I think we gone high enough.”

                                   

“Oh, alright,” she guffaws, pleased to have scared him just a tiny bit. “Let’s go.” And they slump ahead on a crooked trajectory that has them nearly spinning in circles. “Wee! Isn’t this fun, Steve?”

 

“Zaara—STOP IT! NOW!” he insists and with a rush of Asgardian strength, he whips her body around until she is seated directly in front of him, face to face, and straddling his lap.

 

“Woo, okay, alright,” she heaves with laughter, wiping a tear from her eye. The whipping wind is making her cold and she leans into his torso for warmth. It feels hard and manly and beyond tempting and she lets her palms wander all over it, exploring. Her touches make him burn, but he won’t lose focus. “That was fun! Did I make you dizzy? I’m dizzy, but it feels good. Wanna do it again?”

 

“No,” he refuses, sounding far too sober. “That’s only the liquor talking.” But he gives a sigh of relief for now she is safe in front of him and there is no chance of her slipping off the bike—not with her planted firmly in his lap. Pulling her closer, though, makes the tip of her pubic bone graze his manhood in a way that makes him groan.

 

“Mmmm . . .” she smiles blissfully and falls into his chest, lips tickling his throat. “Mmmm, can I kiss you again or do I have to wait ‘til we get home?”

 

“Problem is,” Steve admits in a raspy voice, hardening with arousal. “We must be a couple hundred feet up by now. It’s pitch black, and I can’t see the way home.” Despite the danger, he can’t remember ever feeling so exhilarated in his life. He’s excited, aroused, full of daring and passion. _I oughtta be ashamed of myself. I gotta keep it together, keep her safe. She’s not herself._

 

“Steve?” she asks playfully. “Are we lost?”

 

“Probably,” he replies truthfully, doing his best to ignore the way her worlds only inflame his passion. “And you seem to be doing everything in your power to keep it that way.”

 

“I’m sorry,” she suddenly tears up, surprising him. The thought of failing him makes her deeply despondent. “Are you mad at me?”

 

“No, baby, no,” he soothes and releases one of the bike’s handles to stroke her back up and down. _Can’t let her fall apart on me now. Not while we’re up in the air._

 

“You are,” she sobs. “You’re mad at me.”

 

“No,” he kisses her cheek reverently. “I’m mad at myself for letting you get this drunk.”

 

“But I _feel_ good,” she protests. “And _you_ feel good. _So_ good. Against me. Mmmm . . .” Her lips tickle his ear now and she grinds her hips playfully against his hardness. Realizing he must keep his wits about him or he will start making love to Zaara in the sky, he gently coaxes her lips away from his.

 

“Zaara,” he says sharply. “We’re lost. I’ll get us home, I promise. But you have to lower our altitude and get us onto the road.”

 

“Lower our altitude,” she repeats numbly. Sleepily. “Like this?” And they take such a dip that her body rises up from the seat of the bike and hangs for a moment in the air.

 

“Okay, STOP!” he shouts and she lands back in his lap with a thud. “Just keep us hovering for a minute, alright? I see some lights over there.” Indeed, everything is dark since they left the gorge. The lights in the distance present a most welcome haven.

 

“Mmm, okay,” she agrees, dropping her face down onto his chest. Even though he is still aroused, she is beginning to act sleepy and he has little doubt that if she doses off, they’ll be in even bigger trouble.

 

“Zaara—turn us around. Take us to those lights. I think I know where we are,” he urges, squeezing her shoulders with his thumbs. He switches on the headlights, hoping to see more, though he’s aware they will probably need to come off again to avoid detection. _A flying motorcycle—not so easy to explain to folks._

 

“Ugh,” she groans, hiding her face in his chest.

 

“Do it!” he commands.

 

“Bossypants,” she snorts, but the motorcycle turns and approaches the lights.

 

“It’s the Avengers’ compound,” Steve whispers in disbelief. Soon enough, he can tell they are no longer alone.

 

“Hi Vision!” Zaara giggles, sitting up straight, suddenly not so sleepy. “How are you?”

 

“I am functioning within normal parameters,” Vision replies politely from where he hovers gracefully in the night air. “That is to say, I am well, Ms. Xaviar. But I do feel some concern for your current state of being. Captain Rogers?”

 

“My current state of being?” she laughs as if it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard.

 

“I, uh, took her out to dinner and I’m afraid she had too much wine,” Steve explains apologetically.

 

“Are you in distress?” the cyborg asks quizzically, noting how Zaara straddles Steve’s lap. “You appear to be intoxicated.”

 

She bursts into laughter and shouts, “ _No!”_ while, at the exact same moment, Steve sounds an emphatic, “ _Yes!”_ Shamefaced, he adds, “I don’t think there’ll be a landing anytime soon. We could use some help navigating, though.”

 

“I see,” Vision agrees, deep in thought and staring hard at Steve. “Ms. Xaviar, don’t you think you should lower your altitude? Motorcycles are not designed for the purposes of aviation. Captain Rogers can see you safely home on the road.”

 

Zaara starts to sing. “ _Fly like an eagle_ . . . You know that song? Steve is so good at flying. I’d never do this by yourself. I mean, by myself. I’ve never been on a motorcycle before.”

 

“Ah,” the cyborg nods at Steve knowingly.

 

“Would you mind leading us?” Steve asks in a plaintive voice, hoping desperately Vision doesn’t notice Zaara’s legs wrapping tightly around his waist. “Maybe you can help us out with the landing when we get back to the school.”

 

“Certainly,” Vision nods cordially. “Follow me. You won’t require your headlights. I suggest you turn them off so you won’t be detected.”

 

“You heard him,” Steve flicks the switch and nuzzles Zaara’s neck. “Let’s pull the plug.” Vision glances behind him every so often to check on them, but Zaara propels them steadily, linking her mind to the cybernetic Avenger so that they fly in tandem.

 

“You steer,” she tells Steve, her mouth grazing his throat. “I’m not looking. I hate heights. You’re lucky I’m not a vampire, by the way.” Burying her face in Steve’s chest, she nestles into his warmth, his pebbled leather jacket shielding her from the night wind. Giggling about vampires, she even dares to mouth his Adam’s apple, making him jump. Luckily, Vision emits a faint red glow so he tries to focus on that. Somehow, he maintains full control over the steering, but they are still flying so high it could prove to be a problem unless Zaara can direct their descent on a safe trajectory.

 

“Ms. Xaviar,” Vision warns. “We are nearing the Xaviar school.

 

“What’s our altitude now, Viz?” Steve asks when a few moments pass.

 

“Two thousand, seven hundred, fifty-eight feet,” the cyborg calls back. “At this pace, we should arrive in 4.7 minutes.”

 

“Great,” Steve replies. “We should start our descent.” Without further ado, he lifts Zaara from his lap as lightly as if she were an infant in his arms and turns her to face forward. Zaara registers her discontent with a frown and a childish whine. Steve only wraps one arm tightly about her waist and lowers his lips to her ear. “Can you see Vision up ahead? Follow him. He’ll take us down gradually. Got it? Eyes on Vision for a safe landing.”

 

“Got it,” she mutters bitterly. “I could have done it myself, you know.”

 

“Sure, sweetheart, sure,” his breath blows in her ear. “But at least this way, you shouldn’t throw up.”

 

She considers it. “Guess not,” she admits. “Then you won’t mind kissing me again. Right?”

 

“Kissing you again?” he asks in mock horror. “Now why would I ever want to do that?”

 

“So you could touch me like this . . .” she pouts, and brings his hand to cup her breast. Steve shivers at the feel of her fullness and runs his teeth over his lower lip.

 

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs in her ear, the incredible softness of her breast making him hard again. “You’re not yourself right now. Really. I don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready for—anything you might regret in the morning. You’re . . .”

 

“I know, I know,” she grouches. “I’m drunk. Just say it. Vision knows already.”

 

“Yes, Miss Xaviar,” the cyborg guides them even lower until Zaara imagines the tips of her toes brushing the topmost branches of the trees. “It is nothing to be ashamed of. Mr. Stark has faced some serious problems with alcohol, though I know you do not normally imbibe.”

 

“It was a seven-course meal!” she whines. “At a French restaurant. They _made_ me do it! Picked out the wine to match every single one of those dishes and my God it _tasted fantastic._ Now I’m drunk. But I’m happy.” She turns to kiss Steve on the cheek.

 

‘It’s alright, sweetheart,” he gives her a light kiss back. “Just keep following.”

 

“Head for the garden, Viz,” Zaara slurs her words. “Soffft la-landing.”

 

“Very good, Ms. Xaviar.” Moments later, he turns to face them and grasps hold of the handlebars while they hover only twenty feet above the ground. “Slowly, Ms. Xaviar. Or you can release it to me and I’ll carry you. I have the strength.”

 

“I got it,” she hiccups and the bike abruptly launches into a free fall. Luckily, Vision is right there to catch them and he lowers them safely down onto the grass.

 

“Here we are,” he announces.

 

“Thanks, Vision,” Steve says gratefully, wiping the sweat off his brow. “It’s good to see you again.”

 

“It’s good to see you, Captain,” the cyborg agrees. “I hope you will consider visiting the compound soon. Colonel Rhodes would like very much to meet with you again. He is back in residence.”

 

“I’ll do that,” Steve nods, swinging himself off the bike. “I really appreciate your help tonight. But I can take it from here.”

 

“Of course,” the red-faced Avenger nods curtly, but to his surprise, Zaara tears herself from Steve’s arms and stumbles over to Vision who is forced to catch her as he did the motorcycle.

 

“Thank you, Viz!” she sobs, hugging him tight while he supports her weight. “I’m sorry I almost killed us all.”

 

“We were in no danger,” the cyborg seems puzzled.

 

Weeping, she wipes away a tear. “Then . . . Then I’m sorry I took you away from . . . from whatever it was you were doing tonight.”

 

“I was merely patrolling the grounds of the compound, as I do every evening,” Vision informs her. “It was no trouble at all.”

 

“Okay,” Zaara continues to sob. “But thanks. Thank you so much.”

 

“You are most welcome, Ms. Xaviar,” Vision smiles. “And I do want to thank you for sharing your daughter’s birth with me a few weeks ago. It was a . . . tremendous experience, to say the least. Human life is precious indeed . . .”

 

“I know,” she bawls, still squeezing him tight. “It really is. Precious.” Vision, flummoxed as to what to do next as Zaara’s hot tears drip down upon his cloak, pats her on the back awkwardly.

 

“Don’t worry—I’ve got this,” Steve steps in and smoothly pulls Zaara away. “Bedtime for you, Zaara. You’ll feel better in the morning—I promise.”

 

“Oh . . . okay,” she acquiesces, wiping her eyes.

 

“Goodnight, Ms. Xaviar,” Visions says softly, floating up into the night sky in that ethereal way of his.

 

“Goodnight, Vision,” she sighs after him, eyes still watery and blinking at the twinkling stars. She shivers.

 

“Here, I’ll warm you up,” Steve pulls her closer, wrapping his arms around his own pebbled leather jacket that still hangs from her shoulders. “Zaara?”

 

“Mmm?”

 

Steve swallows nervously. “Darling, are you still crying?”

 

She clears her throat. “Yes. I mean, no. I’m done crying.” And she rubs her face onto his shirt, drying off the last bit of her tears, making him chuckle to himself. But her knees go weak and her body descends towards the ground. Catching her, he stares at her fearfully.

 

“Whoah! You alright?”

 

“Yeah, ha ha,” she cackles, still sinking. “It’s so beautiful tonight. Couldn’t we stay out a little longer and watch the stars?” The grass feels soft beneath her body and she finds herself relaxing fully into his embrace.

 

“Well,” Steve drops to his knees and gingerly seats himself beside her. He checks his watch. “It’s just past eleven-thirty and we’re already home so . . . alright. We made curfew. Are you warm enough?”

 

“No. Not nearly enough,” she snickers, snuggling into the grass, her tears forgotten. His leather jacket is keeping her cozy, but she grabs at his shirt roughly with her fingers and pulls him right down on top of her. Chortling at the blunt efficiency of her maneuver, Steve places his lips upon hers and they kiss, Zaara opening her mouth and squirming erotically beneath him. Everything her body does only heightens his arousal and he abruptly pulls away to confront her widening pupils, swollen lips, and reddened cheeks. Her chest heaves up and down with excitement and her breath smells of wine and her unique womanly scent—the scent that’s driven him crazy ever since they first met in Wakanda.

 

Without realizing it, his gaze falls to where her purple dress splays open to reveal her ample bosom. Her breasts jiggle lightly while she catches her breath and he can see the lacey trim of her demi-bra. Suddenly, he’s reminded of those nights in Asgard when they slept wrapped around each other, the cold iron of the garden wall a barrier between them. The memory of that magical moment when his lips plucked the fruit from the silken skin of her breasts makes him even harder and he realizes there’s no such barrier here. _We’re back in a garden, and there’s nothing between us now. Nothing at all._ And before he can stop himself, he lowers his mouth and dares to lightly touch her breast with a kiss of slavish adoration. Zaara giggles uncontrollably. She runs those same delicate fingers through his dirty blonde hair, enjoying every single thing he does to her. Emboldened by her obvious and blatant expressions of pleasure, he brushes his cheek lightly over the length of her chest so that his mouth accidentally grazes her nipple. He even dares to run a hand along the curve of her hip. The slit in her dress goes quite high, though her legs are pressed together so he simply rests his hand upon her bare thigh, the heat making her body sing. The pink glow on her skin pulsates with an intensity he doesn’t even notice, brighter and stronger than ever before. Placing another kiss upon her lower belly, he makes Zaara tremble with pleasure and moan in a way that tells him she wants more. Her hips give a tiny but discernible thrust and Steve becomes so hard it hurts.

 

_I want this so bad. So bad. I want it to be perfect for her. I want to do everything right._

 

Drunk not only from the wine, but from the erotic feelings she reads in his mind, Zaara giggles even harder and succumbs yet again to hiccups. “Damnit,” he whispers. “Zaara—you really are drunk. I can’t do this. We can’t. We shouldn’t.”

 

“Aw, Steve,” she protests in a tone that only eggs him on. “Kiss me. I want this. My whole body wants this. So much—even if I am drunk.” With a wanton sigh, he brings his face down to meet her lower belly, tracing a brazen path of sensual kisses all the way down to her pubic bone. When he reaches the forbidden spot, he stops and gazes up at her. “Mmm . . .” she moans her encouragement, even bucking up and hitting him lightly on the chin. He stares at her hard, breath heavy and lips wet before bending down to touch his mouth briefly upon her mound in a tiny kiss that makes her squirm even harder. By now she has both hands tangled in his hair and his thick fingers caress the bare skin of her inner thigh, glowing an even hotter pink. Her dress yields to his touch and he can see a tiny pair of pink panties underneath. Steve cannot speak. His voice disappears and, acting purely on instinct, his mouth inhales her incredible scent. Unthinking, he briefly swipes the tip of his tongue over the thin fabric and they give him an unbearable hint of her taste—the very taste that corresponds to a scent that’s been driving him crazy for months.

 

The pink light pulsates brighter than ever.

 

 _What the hell did I just do? Oh, God._ And suddenly, with a determination only Steve Rogers can muster, he backs away. “This ends here, sweetheart.”

 

“Damn right it does!” Bucky’s voice suddenly pierces the night air, causing his gut to wrench. Normally, Steve’s senses are superlative. But they betrayed him this time, enmeshed as they are in Zaara’s beauty.

 

“Bucky!” Zaara calls in a joyfully innocent fashion. “My hunka-hunka burnin’ love has arrived!”

 

“I sure as hell have,” Bucky grinds his teeth with rage while Steve hastily folds Zaara’s dress back into place, covering her naked thighs and panties. Scrambling to conceal his rather painful erection, he reddens with embarrassment.

 

“Buck—she got a little drunk tonight,” he manages to gasp, thankful for the darkness but also aware Bucky possesses a heightened sense of vision, even at night.

 

“You don’t say,” Bucky shoots him the stink-eye. “You makin’ out with a drunk woman, punk? We got rules about these things. _Gentlemen_ have rules. Zaara honey, you alright?”

 

“Mmm, more than alright,” she smiles blissfully and swipes her hand over her belly in a rather sensual fashion. The pink glow continues unabated, though Bucky cannot see it. “I _wanted_ to make out with him. Okay? So don’t get mad. You already had one fight today, soldier. Met your quota. Move on.” Bucky notices she struggles to sit up and, before Steve can see to it, he’s at her side.

 

“Against the rules, doll,” he shakes his head roughly. “Come on. We’re leaving.”

 

“What? Leaving?” she asks, incredulous.

 

“That’s right,” he says firmly while Steve bows his head, mortified.

 

Zaara furrows her brow, as if she is trying to solve a mathematical equation. Then she flashes him a naughty, drunken smile. “Wait, hunka-hunka. Did you just _cockblock_ us?” 

 

Their jaws gape.

 

Zaara bursts into wild laughter. “ _Cockblock_. You old men know what that means?” Still trying to hide his rather painful erection, Steve doesn’t know whether to howl or bury his face in shame. “Well, I’ll tell you what it means . . .” she starts, but Bucky interrupts.

 

“No. No you won’t, doll. I’ll look it up later,” the former Winter Soldier says firmly as he picks her up in his arms like some knight in shining armour. “And so will Steve. Sweetheart, I don’t know what this punk did to you tonight, and I don’t know what happened in Asgard. But I’m gonna put you to bed and take care of you so you don’t get sick. Tomorrow you can wake up and be yourself again and not some lush doing things I know Zaara wouldn’t want.”

 

“How do _you_ know what Zaara wants?” she pouts, her fingers exploring Bucky’s dark tresses now, her nostrils breathing in his own incredible scent. It’s so different than Steve’s—musky, with a streak of dark chocolate that is positively delectable and sinfully sumptuous. Bucky pretends not to notice.

 

 _Bucky. You’re so handsome._ Her fingers explore and entwine themselves in his silken locks, making him shiver.

 

 _Doll, don’t embarrass yourself in front of Steve. He won’t understand. You’re not well._ “Just put your head on my shoulder,” he soothes, “It’s okay, kitten. I got you.” He spares a glance at Steve. “Punk.”

 

“Buck,” Steve begins, feeling terrible. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t apologize to me, jerk,” Bucky stares him down. “Save it for her. Tomorrow.”

 

“Tomorrow,” Steve murmurs, hanging his head while Bucky walks away, carrying the woman they both love in his arms.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

With utmost care, Bucky lays her down and strips the purple dress from her body. He averts his eyes and does not touch her panties or demi-bra. Instead, he finds a modest nightgown in one of the drawers (even though he knows Zaara prefers baggy pajamas when they share the bed) and pulls it on her, not realizing she will admonish him the next morning for letting her sleep in a demi-bra. But first, he props her up in the bathroom and somehow manages to brush her teeth while her head spins, reminding her when to spit out. Then he gives her a drink of water and some aspirin before he lays her down on her side in case she gets sick. Anxious, he rouses her somewhat to make certain she is not nauseous and, once he is satisfied, leaves her for a few moments.

 

“Don’t talk,” he huffs when he finds Steve in the shower. His best friend has already sought relief from his frustrations, the scent of his manhood nearly obscured by the rushing water and mint scented shower gel. Bucky’s nose catches it anyways. Steve turns the faucet off and Bucky tosses him a towel. Wrapping it around his naked hips, Steve stands there on the matt, half-nude and shivering though it is not from the water. It’s the look in Bucky’s eyes. “Steve, what you almost did out there is unforgiveable.”

 

Steve feels his heart break, but says nothing. He only nods, acknowledging the truth.

 

Feeling just a tinge of guilt, Bucky softens his stance slightly. “Look, I know she’s got feelings for you. What I saw in her mind . . . I know she _wanted_ things to happen. It’s true. She might even be mad as hell at me tomorrow for stopping you. Or, maybe she’ll never forgive you. Who the hell knows? The whole point is she’s a mess. This stuff’s new to her. In the morning, she’s gotta be a mom to those kids and she’s gotta keep a clear head about all this. Got that?”

 

Steve nods again. “You’re right,” he agrees in a tired voice.

 

“Damn straight,” Bucky grunts. “So don’t blow it. Now I’m gonna go look after her. We’ll see you in the morning.”

 

“Buck,” Steve calls as his best friend turns his back to him.

 

“What?” Bucky pauses, reluctant.

 

“Thanks,” Steve says sincerely. Bucky gives him a slight nod and returns to Zaara.

 

Hours later, unable to sleep, Steve finally decides to make a nocturnal visit. When he reaches her room, Zaara lays asleep on her side while Bucky snores, his arm wrapped around her protectively. It gives Steve some relief though the sight of her only puts his body in torment again so that he must return to the shower and beat himself off. He can’t get her out of his mind, can’t stop the relentless pangs of longing that plague him like some unending disease. Day by day, it only seems to get worse. The closer to Zaara he gets, the worse he seems to ache. It’s an exquisite sort of pain and he figures it’ll end in a fit of ecstasy or in his own death.

 

Looking back on their date, he decides it went well. Dinner was a pleasure that went far beyond the food and all the wonderful wines. It felt good to finally be able to talk with her about normal things and without any interruption, to finally have her all to himself. How he loved the sound of her voice, to have her eyes fixed on him and on him alone. It almost makes him wish things were different, that they were normal people living normal lives, but he’s not one to ignore the gifts he’s been given in his own life. _We’re together now. We’ve gone on a date, and my gut tells me there’ll be more._

 

He curls up in bed, arms wrapped tight around his pillow though it is a poor substitute for her love. He doesn’t know what the morning will bring, whether he will meet Zaara’s love or rancor. If she is upset, he hopes earnestly that she’ll forgive him, knowing he did stop himself, after all. There can be no denying their passion for each other, even if she was drunk. And he knows she wasn’t drunk when they kissed early on in the parking lot.

 

All he can do is wait.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

When he wakes, she’s left the suite and there's a suitcase on her bed, half-packed. It’s a shock for him to have slept in, but it had been one hell of a night. Bucky smirks when he finally makes his way into the kitchen.

 

“Morning, punk,” the former Winter Soldier gives a wry grin. “She’s with Storm. Looks like she’s going on a little trip. But she ain’t goin’ alone.”

 

Steve’s jaw drops.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut alert for the next chapter! Thank you for your patience.
> 
> Also coming up next time: the return of the Wolverine ;-)


	21. Ain't that a Kick in the Head?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentines Day!
> 
> This is a Valentine to all my readers. Lots of love to you all. It's always a thrill to post a new chapter ;-)
> 
> Wishing a very happy birthday to Ashley!
> 
> Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fasten your seatbelts. A lot happens in this chapter. Finally, after two hundred thousand words, smut. Yay!!  
> You've been so patient--thanks, lol!
> 
> Also, a big surprise is revealed ;-)

_  
_

 

_How lucky can one guy be? I kissed her and she kissed me._

_Like the fella once said, “Ain’t that a kick in the head?”_

_The room was completely black, I hugged her and she hugged back._

_Like the sailor said, quote, “Ain’t that a hole in the boat?”_

_My head keeps spinnin’, I go to sleep and keep grinnin’._

_If this is just the beginnin’ my life is gonna be beau-ti-ful._

_I’ve sunshine enough to spread._

_It’s just like the fella said._

_Tell me quick, ain’t that a kick in the head?_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Zaara._

_Professor?_

_I’ve been waiting for you._

_For me?_

_Yes. You’re ready now._

_Ready? Ready for what? Is it really you? I thought you’d died._

_No. That’s not what happened. I’m here. It's me. The time has come._

_Time for what?_

_Time to bring me back._

_Bring you back? How?_

_Look into your heart. You’ll know what to do . . ._

_. . . Doll?_

_Bucky?! What are you doing here?_

_Where are we? And who’s that? Is it the Professor?_

_Yes. It’s him._

_But I thought he died . . . Don’t cry, doll. It’s alright. I got you._

_I’m okay, Bucky. I . . . I just miss him._

_This is a dream. Isn’t it?_

_This is no dream, Bucky. This is the astral plane._

_The astral what?_

_Wait--he’s calling me . . . I have a mission._

_A mission? What mission?_

_I can’t tell you. I can’t say._

_Doesn’t matter, doll. I’m coming with you. Don’t try to stop me._

_Bucky . . . Professor? Professor! . . ._

_Where’d he go?_

_Back to wherever he came from. God, I miss him._

_I know, doll. I know._

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Tossing fitfully in his sleep, Bucky suddenly wakes. With a jolt of fear, he realizes he can't feel Zaara. His hands grasp frantically about the bed and he breaks out in a cold sweat. He opens his eyes. Everything is dark. After a moment, he spots her lying curled up on the far side of the huge bed. Heaving a sigh of relief, he wraps his arms around her, gripping her tight.

 

Zaara doesn’t wake. She settles her body deep into his warmth and sighs in contentment.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

For once, she’s up early while Bucky has yet to stir. It makes no sense given the amount of wine she consumed last night but she goes with it, thanking her stars that Steve’s not up yet either. It’s a strange feeling to be awake without her two supersoldiers and somewhat lonely not to have them following her around like two shadows, but it does give her a chance to clear things up with Storm. More significantly, it allows her to put off thinking about last night.

 

She trusts Storm. The woman once known as the Weather Witch must be the only one who knows exactly what she’s up to. Failure is not an option, but Zaara fears she’ll blow it no matter how hard she tries. In truth, she is being asked to do the impossible. Bucky has only an inkling of what’s going on even though he manged to show up on the astral plane. Zaara’s not happy about it but she figures it was due to their tether. After all, the two of them often share dreams. Bucky seems to accept the limit she places on his knowledge, thank goodness. He really doesn’t care what her mission is about—he’d follow her to the ends of the earth with a moment’s notice if she asked.

 

 _Bet if I asked you to go over the rainbow and infiltrate Munchkinland, you’d do it, too_.

 

_Doll, I wouldn’t even blink. I'd do anything for you—even without the ruby slippers._

 

Bucky stirs in his sleep. He’s not quite awake but in a semi-conscious state that allows him to talk to Zaara in his head. He knows something is up, but there seems to be no danger and, as long as he gets to stay with her, he doesn’t care about much else. He doesn’t want to leave the children, but he hopes Steve will stay with them this time. Begrudgingly, he anticipates the Captain will strenuously object at being left behind. _Punk ain’t gonna like me takin’ a trip alone with his girl,_ Bucky tells her in his sleep.

_Is that what he calls me?_ Zaara sighs before digging out a suitcase from the back of her closet. Uncertain of the weather, she overstuffs the compartments with jeans, shorts, yoga pants, and sweaters. Overpacking is a bad habit, but she doesn’t care. She has no intention of wearing her X-men uniform. The mission will be best served by civilian gear and she hopes Bucky will see that, too, even if he doesn’t consider himself a civilian. Indeed, the former Winter Soldier travels light. When he finally wakes, he sits in bed and watches her pack, chuckling as she goes overboard. His nostrils quiver, taking in her scent. It seems exceptionally sweet this morning with a curious new overtone that is somehow familiar to him, though he can’t quite place it. They don’t speak. She wrinkles her nose at him, wishing he wouldn’t judge. She doesn’t have a supersoldier body and a visit to the cold Canadian north followed by the heat of California requires several different outfits. Somewhere in the depths of her closet, she unearths a pair of hiking boots. Bucky takes note.

 

_This is gonna be a short mission, right doll?_

_That’s right. You know too much, Bucky. I’m gonna go talk to Storm now. Look after Steve for me when he wakes, will you? He won’t understand._

_On it, doll._

 

After his late breakfast, Steve finds her in her room. Bracing herself, she keeps right on packing, too weary to face interrogation. “Good morning,” he greets her softly, marveling at the rich, pink glow still hovering over her skin. _Seems even brighter than last night. And she smells different, too, like ice cream or something. I could eat her with a spoon._ “How do you feel?”

 

“How do you think?” Bucky snorts, coming in behind him. Suddenly, he gets another whiff of Zaara. By the time he woke, he had found traces of her new, sweeter scent in the bedsheets. Now that he stands close to her, its intensity makes him slightly dizzy. _You smell so good, doll. Mmmm . . ._

 

She laughs, but doesn’t turn to face them. _God, I’m so not ready for this._ “I’m tired. But thanks to Bucky’s tender care and all that delicious food, I’m not hung over. Not really. Could use some more sleep, though.”

 

“I'll bet,” Steve agrees, his heart sinking. _Last night might not have been so good for her after all. Did I assume too much?_

 

As if sensing his doubt, she turns to give him a tentative smile. The look in his eyes, so earnest and hopeful, melts her heart and she hurries over to give him a soft peck on the cheek, tickled to see him with rumpled pajamas and tousled hair so late in the morning _. He’s usually such an early bird._ He smells clean and fresh despite his sleepiness and he receives her kiss with a good deal of relief, resting his huge hands upon her shoulders as if to stop her from leaving him. Some jealous part of him curses the sight of that suitcase on her bed.

 

“I heard you have a mission,” he says in a worried voice that belies the twinkle in his eye. His hands weigh heavy upon her shoulders and he’s all business again—more Captain America than Steve.

 

She exhales, feeling the weight of him on her body. So far, she hasn’t had the chance to process what happened on their date. Having slept deeply last night, she gave it no thought. Plus, there was that rather unexpected visit to the astral plane. It’s rare for her to go to there these days and the Professor gave her much to ponder. But none of it can stop the tingling of her body, the way it practically sings at his touch. Her pink glow intensifies, but only Steve can see it. “I do. I asked Bucky to tell you. I don’t suppose you’d stay with the children, would you? Rogue has done so much already. I’d hate to ask her again.”

 

“Do you have to go right now?” he asks skeptically, trying not to sound as desperate as he feels _. You’re not going anywhere without me, sweetheart._ “We just got home. This doesn’t have anything to do with our date last night, does it?”

 

She detects the hint of a blush on his cheeks. _He’s scared that he blew it even though I just kissed him. Steve Rogers—not the sharpest tool in the shed when it comes to women._ “Yes. I have to go. It’s . . . time sensitive. Bucky’s coming with me. It’s nothing dangerous . . . not really.” Backing slowly away, she returns to her suitcase and resumes packing.

 

“ _Not really_?” he sounds incredulous, empty arms falling helplessly to his sides. “That’s not good enough. You can’t go in light. You need back-up. Sam and Wanda can watch the kids. I’ll come with you.” Once again, his voice takes on the certainty of Captain America, as if everything’s been decided. Pleased by the way he's worming himself into her business, he gives a small, tell-tale smile. “They won’t mind at all.”

 

“Well,” Zaara murmurs reluctantly, unable to stop her heart from leaping with joy. _God, I’m so crazy about him. Sometimes I just wanna let him have his wicked way with me._ “They’ve both been working hard. They deserve a break. And it might cheer Wanda up a little, to get to know the kids better.”

 

“How long will we be gone?” With a surge of confidence, he keeps up his Captain America voice. “I’d like to hear a little more about the dangerous part.”

 

 _Damnit, Steve_. “It’s really not dangerous—not as long as both of you listen to me and follow my lead,” she replies forcefully.

 

“So you’re letting me come?” he asks in delight, sensing he’s in.

 

“Do I have a choice?” she retorts, resisting an urge to smile. _He looks so damned pleased with himself, so smug. Like he’s got me in the palm of his hand._ “You’d just follow us anyways. Wouldn’t you?” He won’t deny it. She stares hard at Bucky and clears her throat. “Alright, you two. Listen up. This is my mission, so I call the shots. It’ll only take a couple days, if everything goes smoothly. If not, it could take a bit longer. The children will be furious, but when we get home, they’ll have a surprise that might make it worth their while.”

 

“In other words, we’ll bribe them,” Bucky smirks.

 

Zaara laughs.

 

Still in Captain America mode, Steve won’t let up. “Can you tell me more?”

 

“No, Bossypants,” she refuses. “This is an X-Men mission so for you, everything is on a need-to-know basis. Storm has the whole story and that’s good enough for me. You’ll just have to be patient. We have our reasons. You need to trust me. Otherwise, you can stay home with Ellie and Henry.”

 

Steve keeps his mouth shut after that and waits for her instructions. She continues packing. Both men watch silently, as if it’s the most fascinating thing in the world and for them, it pretty much is. Finally, she orders them to pack for themselves. “Bring something for the cold and something for warm weather,” she instructs. “We’ll be spending a lot of time outdoors.”

 

“What’re you bringing?” Steve addresses Bucky to avoid pelting her with more questions. _She’s letting me go with her, so I’ll back off—for now._

 

“Just this,” Bucky tosses him his backpack.

 

“Travelling light,” Steve observes.

 

“It’s the only way to go.” Bucky gives a sardonic grin while Zaara rolls her eyes. When he leaves to fetch the children, Steve quickly corners her.

 

“Zaara,” he murmurs with that soft expression on his face. It's more Steve than Captain America.

 

“Yes?” she regards him innocently, even though her body tingles to be alone with him again. Her pink glow intensifies as well. They still haven’t discussed their date.

 

“Are you alright? I mean, after last night?” he asks quietly.

 

She smiles and nods. “Yeah. Yes, I am.” _I have to face this sooner or later._ She stands frozen a moment, unsure. Crestfallen, he waits silently until she can bear it no longer. Her heart throbs and she falls directly into his arms. Pressing her cheek against his chest, she listens to his heartbeat. Its loud thrum soothes her, makes her feel safe and grounded, ready to face whatever is to come. Steve takes the opportunity to caress her, running his large hands up and down her bare arms. He gives a sigh of relief. _I_

 

 _think I have my answer._ Their embrace is rather chaste compared to last night, but she’s still tired and at least she’s letting him hold her again.

 

Suddenly, she gives a huge yawn. “Hmm. I think I'll have to nap on the Blackbird,” she murmurs.

 

Chuckling, he strokes his thumb over her cheek. “Sounds like a good idea. You’re welcome to use my lap again.” A wicked sparkle appears in his eye.

 

“What, you mean like last time when I was puking all over?” she snickers.

 

“I don’t remember that part so much,” he admits innocently. “Just . . . the part when I was holding you. That’s all.”

 

“That’s all?” she asks breathlessly. The memory of those blissful hours in his lap floods her body and makes her want to climb on top of him all over again.

 

“Uh huh,” he nods bluntly, biting his lip at the way she makes him feel.

 

“If I let you hold me like that again, Bucky will get jealous.”

 

“Are you my girl, or not?” Steve asks softly. Longingly. He gazes into her indigo eyes with an intensity that startles her. Her heart stops and she catches her breath. A few moments pass before she can give her answer.

 

“I guess so. If that’s what you want to call me . . . I’m your girl,” she admits, blushing.

 

“Alright then.” A rush of satisfaction overtakes his body. “Good.” Pangs of desire return to torment him, as they have ever since the moment he first saw her in that café in Wakanda. He shivers. “But you’d better curb your enthusiasm.”

 

She laughs. “Shut up,” she whispers and places her hands flat against his pectorals, feeling the reverberations deep in his chest. She marvels at the supple firmness of his muscles and tilts her chin upward, waiting. Savoring the sight of lips so pink and willing, relief floods his heart. That little peck on the cheek had seemed far too casual after their date last night, but now he knows it was real. Her lips part, anticipating his own with such exquisite softness he can only bend down and kiss her with everything he’s got. Zaara sways in his arms while he clutches her waist, supporting most of her weight so that he feels her every curve, soft breasts pressing against his chest. Their kiss deepens and she feels his wetness all over her mouth, like a mark upon her. Sleepiness soon sets in, however, and she draws away while his pupils blacken, mouth panting for air. “At ease, soldier,” she giggles lightly.

 

“I am at ease,” he counters with a naughty grin. “ _Very much_ at ease.”

 

“Oops,” she guffaws. “Wrong expression. I never was in the military.”

 

“Thank God for that,” he shakes his head. “It’s hard enough with you being an X-man.”

 

“Never did complete my training,” she muses, lost in her longing for him while stand they face-to-face, body to body. As if they have a mind of their own, her arms wrap themselves around his neck. _I can’t stop touching him. Is he really mine?_

 

“I'll train you,” he offers eagerly, but it sounds like an indecent proposal. “I can teach you _everything._ ”

 

“Captain,” she breathes. “How would we _ever_ get anything done?”

 

But before Steve can reply, Bucky saunters in. “Oh. Pardon me,” the former Winter Soldier shoves his hands into his pockets, sullen.

 

With some relief, Zaara drops her arms from Steve. “Bucky. Are you ready to get going?”

 

“I talked to Ellie and Henry,” he confesses soberly. “It didn’t go over well.”

 

“No kidding,” she frowns with dismay. They spend the next hour with the children to make up for it, attempting to soothe hurt feelings. Between all the laughter and tears, Zaara feels awful. She hates leaving them so soon, but she knows there’s no other way. The Professor’s voice still rings in her ears. Bucky hears it, too.

_The time has come . . . You’re ready._

 

Indeed, she can hardly believe what she’s been asked to do. It’s tough enough keeping Bucky and Steve in the dark, but she hopes it will be worth it. If she fails, she'd be devastated and it would be so difficult to explain. Besides, Logan has been on his own long enough. She owes him more than she’d like to admit. _No woman is worth living in a cave._

 

When they finally depart, she's been drained by the all tears and cries and hugs. Sam and Wanda step up, just as Steve promised, but Rogue happily offers to remain with the children at nighttime. It brings her some comfort as she settles in on the Blackbird. Bucky, to his surprise, finds himself setting a course for northern Alberta. _You’re welcome, my Hunka-hunka burnin’ love._ Both men marvel at it, never having visited Canada before. Over in the medical bay, Steve unfolds the bunk for Zaara with great reluctance, haunted by happy memories of her sleeping in his lap for hours when they made their way home from Wakanda. But he fulfills his promise and uses the time to re-connect with Bucky, who pilots the Blackbird. With Zaara slumbering away, they indulge in a long conversation that could only happen away from the children and the woman they love.

 

Bucky breaks the silence first. “So, what gives, punk?”

 

“What gives?” Steve repeats. “You want an explanation about last night. Don’t you?”

 

Bucky sighs. “So she’s your girl after all, huh?”

 

“Yeah,” he confirms softly. “She is.”

 

“Poor thing forgave you for what you did to her last night?” Bucky cannot conceal the bitterness in his voice.

 

Steve’s heart sinks. “Guess so.”

 

“You don’t deserve it,” Bucky frowns.

 

“No. No, I don’t,” Steve immediately agrees. “I don’t deserve her.”

 

“No, you don’t,” Bucky agrees. “Neither do I.” They sit in silence for a while. Again, Bucky is first to break it. “We both love her, pal. No other man can love her like we do. Not Murdock—not anybody.”

 

Steve nods in agreement. “You said it. Hey, I sure hate leaving the kids so soon. Can’t stand it.”

 

“Neither can I,” Bucky purses his lips. “It ain’t right. What the hell is she up to?”

 

“I’m not tethered to her,” Steve says primly. “Can’t you read anything?”

 

Bucky furrows his brow. “Last night, we had a dream.”

 

“We?” Steve asks, incredulous.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky confirms. “We both had a dream. Together.”

 

“The two of you— _shared_ a dream?” Steve repeats, more than a shade jealous.

 

“Happens now and then,” Bucky explains casually, sheepish over the way he covets this tiny piece of Zaara that Steve cannot touch. “Just part of the deal with our tether. I don’t mind it so much. They’re never nightmares. Hell, her dreams are better than mine.”

 

“So, what happened?” Steve presses.

 

Bucky closes his eyes a moment, struggling to recall. It feels so far away and he has spent decades working to forget his dreams. “She saw the Professor,” he finally murmurs. “That Charles Xaviar. Was talking to him—until I showed up. Said she misses him. But he disappeared pretty fast and she was crying. There was more going on, but that’s all I got. They hushed up soon as I arrived, like they didn’t want me to know.”

 

Steve considers it. It’s only a sliver of information, but it’s better than nothing.

 

“Wait,” Bucky adds. “I _did_ hear something soon as I got there. The Professor—he said it’s time.”

 

“Time?” Steve asks. “Time for what?”  

 

“I dunno,” Bucky admits bluntly.

 

A few moments pass. Neither of them speaks. Finally, Steve looks askance at him. “So—you okay with it?”

 

“With what, punk?”

 

“Zaara and I. Together,” Steve says cautiously.

 

“Girl’s free to date who she likes,” Bucky shrugs, nonchalant. “There’s no accounting for taste.”

 

“Thanks, man,” Steve sighs in exasperation.

 

“Aw, I don’t mean that, punk,” Bucky struggles to pull himself together.  “I’m jealous as all hell—even if I told you to do it. Can’t help it. I care about her. A lot. That’s all.” After a long pause, he adds, “Sure as hell beats her dating Matt Murdock. Can’t stand the guy.”

 

“Me neither,” Steve admits, feeling awful to say it out loud. “I know he’s your attorney. And he’s not a bad guy. I just couldn’t imagine him with . . . with Zaara.”

 

“You’d better treat her good, pal,” Bucky warns.

 

“I will,” Steve reassures him softly. “I’m so sorry about the what happened last night.”

 

“So what _did_ happen last night?” Bucky asks suspiciously.

 

“Nothing more than what you saw with your own eyes,” Steve quickly confesses. “And—nothing else will. Not unless she wants it to.”

 

“You won’t be getting her drunk again, will you?” Bucky asks bitterly.

 

“No,” Steve shakes his head. “Never again. I let it go too far and I feel bad about that, Buck. I hope you can forgive me. I think she has.”

 

“Then she’s a fool,” Bucky snorts. “But I’ve done a lot of stupid things for you, too, punk. People tend to get stupid for Captain America.”

 

“I ain’t the Captain no more,” Steve demurs.

 

“Does she know that?” Bucky cackles. “Maybe she’s been blinded by the red, white, and blue.”

 

“I know how you feel about her, Buck,” Steve chooses his words carefully. “And . . . it’s alright. I don’t mind. I know you’d do anything for her. That makes me a lucky man.”

 

Bucky shakes his head. “Dumb punk.”

 

“Only when it comes to you,” Steve says softly.

 

When they reach the coordinates, Bucky starts their descent while Steve heads to the medical bay to wake Zaara. Seeing that she is already stirring, he smiles and takes the opportunity to kiss her awake. “Mmm,” she groans sensually while his lips trace a path from her mouth down to the bottom of her throat.

 

“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty,” Steve whispers, lips tickling her soft skin. She shivers and, eyes still closed, uses her hands to cup his head and encourage his ministrations so that before he realizes it, he is kissing and caressing her in earnest, as if they are truly alone.

 

“Steve,” she finally speaks, eyes opening. All she can see are thick tufts of dirty blonde hair spilling over her chest while he kisses her.

 

“Mmm?” he murmurs his question, lips too busy to speak.

 

“We, uh, don’t exactly have the Blackbird to ourselves,” she giggles. “And Bucky’s about to land.”

 

“Roger that.” Steve scoops her up with astonishing strength and carries her back onto the bridge. This time, he seats her on his lap, holding her tight the way he wanted to all along.

 

“Not regulation, pal,” Bucky mutters in annoyance. “We’re landing. She’s gotta buckle up.”

 

“He’s right, Steve,” Zaara chastises. “You can hold me later on at the hotel.”

 

“At the hotel?” he exchanges glances with Bucky.

 

“Yes,” she nods and succinctly climbs out of his lap to buckle herself in her own seat. “We’ll be staying one night. It's a three mile hike from our landing point to our car. It’s already there waiting for us. Then we drive to the hotel, check in, and head out to complete the first part of our mission. Should only take one night, but it could end up being two. I’m hoping to keep it to one.”

 

“And after that, California?” Steve asks as the Blackbird makes its smooth descent. The jet’s cloaking systems keep them well hidden and conceal any lights or markers that could reveal their presence. Forge left Zaara with no worries about being detected. When they finally land, there’s barely even a thud.

 

“Yes, Captain,” she confirms with reluctance. _You miss nothing._ “Next, California.”

 

Unbuckling himself, Steve stares hard at her. “Bucky told me about the dream you had with the Professor.”

 

“So?” Zaara glances back and forth between the two men defiantly.

 

Steve dials it down a notch. “Well, I was just wondering if it has anything to do with the mission.”

 

“My _secret_ mission?” she asks, staring hard at Bucky. _Thanks a lot, Hunka-hunka._

_Sorry, doll. I blew it._ He feels terrible.

 

Hating to see his dismay, Zaara gets up and embraces him where he sits buckled in the pilot’s seat. She plants a firm kiss on the top of his head and uses her fingers to caress his bristly cheek. Bucky rests his cheek against the softness of her breasts while she holds him tight and realizes it’s the thing he wants most in the world. Giving him another kiss, she watches Steve recoil in jealousy. She pulls Bucky even closer. “Forget about it. You’re still my Hunka-hunka burnin’ love. But we have work to do. I’m putting on my hiking boots. I recommend you do the same.”

 

The hike to town takes over an hour through steep, arboreal terrain. Storm insisted they hide the Blackbird deep in the wilderness and, though Steve thinks she’s being overcautious, Zaara doesn’t mind the trek. Bucky walks point while Steve brings up the rear. The men keep Zaara positioned between them at all times, much to her amusement. _Class five mutant and they treat me like I’m helpless._ The three of them breathe in the fresh, crisp air and enjoy the silent march through this tiny parcel of the magnificent Canadian Rockies. The landscape is cold and beautiful. It is late spring but they are far enough north so the air is chilly even while the flora and fauna show off vibrant and intense colours. To their credit, the men do not grumble about carrying Zaara’s over-packed suitcases through the woods. In addition to her stylish bags, each of them bears a lightweight backpack and, given Steve’s Asgardian strength, it’s really no burden even if fancy luggage has no business on a mountain trail. Zaara has to suppress her giggles at the sight of them.

 

The men find themselves amused as well, though Bucky feels a strain of uncertainty. He is beginning to obsess over Zaara’s scent—indeed, hints of her beguiling new perfume first came to him late in the night in the moments after their dream on the astral plane. Now, her scent has taken an even sweeter turn with the same curious accent as before. It’s still _her_ , but it is something more, too. Wondering whether Steve caught it, he pushes it to the back of his mind. _Can’t be that important, or I woulda thought to mention it when we talked on the Blackbird._

 

To his surprise, Zaara gets wind of his peculiar olfactory dilemma. It perplexes her and she succumbs to curiosity. _Is something wrong, Bucky?_

_Nah,_ he demurs. _Only you as usual, gorgeous. Just enjoyin’ your scent. Don’t mean nothin’ by it. Can’t help my nose._

_Alright,_ she smiles back. _Smell away. At least it’s not a bad smell._

 

 _Far from it, doll,_ he grins and glances back at her. Steve raises his eyebrows, curious.

 

“We’re almost there,” she says out loud. “See? There’s the town up ahead.”

 

“You getting’ sleepy?” Steve asks with an unintentionally sexy pout. “’Cause I could carry you. If you like.”

 

“No,” she shakes her head and laughs. _I really need to get my mind out of the gutter._ “I just want to check into the hotel and drop off this luggage. We have work to do.”

 

Their car turns out to be a massive vintage sedan that makes Zaara roll her eyes. _Gas guzzler. What did I expect, travelling to the middle of nowhere?_ The men take to it right away and she makes herself at home in the roomy backseat. Luckily, the hotel is nowhere near as retro in style. She even managed to book them a suite. There's a king-size bed with its own private room and two queens in the main room with a TV and couch. Still, the décor is pretty tacky. The comforters sport horizontal patterns of cowboy boots and cowboy hats are splotched all over the curtains, too.

 

“Well, yee haw,” Bucky snorts, taking a good look around. “This place sure is . . . _comfortable_.”

 

“Guess so,” Steve agrees with a laugh. “For two city boys.” When Zaara heads into the restroom, he takes a seat upon one of the queens, as if to claim it as his own.

 

“Do you smell that on her, punk?” Bucky asks nervously, nodding towards the restroom.

 

“Smell what?” Steve asks, curious.

 

“Her scent,” Bucky says softly. “It’s different. Something’s changed.”

 

“Hmm,” Steve wrinkles his nose thoughtfully. “She smells really good today, even after hiking in the woods. But she always smells good. Dunno. It’s just Zaara. Always smells like the cat’s pajamas to me.”

 

“Maybe,” Bucky agrees, glancing at his feet. He won’t sit down and seems relieved when Zaara emerges moments later.

 

“Are you ready?” she asks.

 

“Doll, I was born ready,” Bucky smirks.

 

Steve stares at her thoughtfully, his mind suddenly attuned to her scent. He had noticed it earlier, but took no time to think about it. It’s as if the reptilian portion of his brain registered it, but never bothered to inform his frontal lobe. After all, he’s had bigger fish to fry what with planning for this mystery mission. Hell, he’s barely had a chance to process the idea that she's his girl. He'd carried a secret ebullience about her over this entire journey, but kept his mouth shut. On top of it all, there’s the pain of saying good-bye to the children so soon after returning from Asgard. But he mulls it over. _Bucky’s right. I wonder what that new scent could be? She smells like she usually does and then some. It’s got a bit of accent to it—something almost familiar. But it doesn’t matter. Makes no difference. She’s my girl and I love her._

 

Caught in his pensive gaze, Zaara struggles to find the wherewithal to speak. It’s too easy to drown in those blue eyes that gaze at her so lovingly. “Let’s go. We’re heading back to the woods.”

 

“Alright.” Bucky waits, but she won’t say anything else. “You, uh, wanna tell us what we’re gonna do there, doll?”

 

She pauses and scratches her head awkwardly. “We’re going to . . .   _rescue_ a friend of mine, I guess. Sort of. Well, not exactly.”

 

“Zaara, what exactly _are_ we doing in Alberta?” Steve asks slowly, pushing his other thoughts aside for the moment. _We’re still on a mission._

 

“It’s my friend—Logan,” she confesses, and her voice betrays a heavy guilt. “He’s here. Living in the woods. I’ve come to bring him home.”

 

“A friend?” Steve ask in astonishment. " _That’s_ your mission?”

 

“Partly,” she continues. “See? Not dangerous at all. Not really. I just need to convince him to come home. It’s time. He’s been living in the wilderness for three years now. That’s no life. I’ve been checking on him, watching over him with Cerebro as much as I can. But it’s time for him to come home.”

 

“And what do you want _us_ to do, doll?” Bucky asks tenderly, aching right along with her. _You sure do care about him, doll_.

 

“Well, you two insisted on coming,” Zaara retorts, though she sends Bucky a wave of gratitude for his compassion. “I told you I could handle this on my own.”

 

“We’re coming with you,” Steve insists in his Captain’s voice. _There’s no way I’m letting her out in the wilderness by herself._ He doesn’t notice the extra wave of protectiveness in his feelings for her. It’s come about in the wake of her new scent. 

 

Zaara regards him with curiosity as those new, protective vibes emanate from his mind. He’s always felt this way for her, more or less, but there’s something slightly different now. _Maybe it’s because I let him call me his girl. He figures that gives him license to be extra-bossy. And of course I fall for it. Him and his damn baby blues._ “Fine. You can drive the car, hike with me if you want. When I find him, you follow my lead. Be there for him, I guess. Show him some compassion. He’s a vet, like you. He has a lot in common with Bucky, you know.”

 

The men stare at each other. Finally, Steve speaks. “Is this the other supersoldier you mentioned back in Wakanda? The one you said you helped?”

 

“You have a good memory, Bossypants,” Zaara laughs. “Yes, it is. And I’m afraid I've abandoned him for too long.”

 

“Abandoned?” Bucky asks, incredulous. “ _You_ —abandoned _him_? I find that hard to believe.”

 

“Well, I did,” she admits sadly. “He came out here by choice, but his real home is with us. Ellie adores him, all his friends live in the mansion. He was an X-man for a long time, longer than me. We gotta bring him home.”

 

“Why’d he come all the way out here?” Steve asks, making her cringe.

 

 _You have a gift for finding the sore spot, Bossypants._ “Terrible taste in women,” she reluctantly admits. “He was . . . broken hearted, trying to get over a girl. It’s self-imposed exile, but three years is long enough. He needs to come home and live a real life again.”

 

Bucky purses his lips. “And you’re gonna convince him of this?”

 

“Yes. I’ll talk to him,” she shrugs. “It needs to end, whether he wants it to or not. He won’t come on his own, so I’ll bring him home. At least, I’ll give it my best shot.” Her answer seems to satisfy them so they leave the bags, lock the door, and get in the car. Zaara warns them to prepare for another long hike. Logan’s dwelling is a couple miles away from the nearest road, though she doesn’t tell them they’re heading for a cave. When they finally reach their destination, Steve frowns.

 

“I’m sorry, Bossypants,” Zaara apologizes. “This isn’t going to be pretty.”

 

“Don’t worry, doll,” Bucky reassures her. “This Logan fella can’t be any worse off than I was in Bucharest.”

 

“We’ll see, Bucky. We’ll see,” Zaara sighs. When they reach the mouth of the cave, the men halt. Before Steve can raise an objection, Zaara moves in front of them. “I go first. He knows me, he’ll recognize my scent. You two have to stay calm. He’s feeling pretty defensive nowadays, he’s had no neighbours, no one talk to besides bears and wolves. He’s a bit feral, actually. We don’t want him to feel like we’re taking him by surprise—that’s the dangerous part. He’s quite a fighter.”

 

Steve stares hard at the dank, rocky cave. It doesn’t smell good. “There’s no way you’re going in there alone, sweetheart.”

 

“You’ll let me go first,” she retorts. “If you know what’s good for you.”

 

“Listen to her, Steve,” Bucky pleads. “He’s a dangerous guy. I can tell. But he won’t hurt Zaara.”

 

“How do _you_ know that?” Steve asks sharply.

 

“Class five mutant, Bossypants,” Zaara reminds him for the hundredth time. “I know what I’m doing. Stay here.” And without any hesitation, she marches directly into the cave, leaving Steve frozen by the entrance. Though there’s a sandy bottom, the path is strewn with old, chewed-up bones and other debris. Sharp supersoldier eyes detect empty whiskey bottles strewn along the walls, most of them smashed. Steve is glad they wear hiking boots. As soon as Zaara releases her hold, the two of them follow her inside. They spot Zaara’s figure about thirty feet ahead, shrouded in darkness. To their dismay, the place reeks of man-stench, liquor, tobacco, blood, bones, and animal hides.

 

Muttering to herself, Zaara shakes her head. “No woman is worth living in a cave.” She raises her voice. “Logan? Logan! _Answer me_.”

 

A petulant growl comes from somewhere deep in the dark, though it sounds very far away.

 

“Logan, it's me,” Zaara repeats, louder this time. “It's time for you to come home.”

 

Suddenly, their supersoldier eyes detect a dark figure looming just beyond the shadows. Steve and Bucky barely make out the features of a man. His beard is thick with bristles, his clothing ragged and dirty. His scent is not altogether foul, but compared to Zaara’s sweetness, it is rustic and rank. Bucky earnestly hopes he’s not quite as filthy as he appears. “Hey, kiddo,” the dank, hairy figure finally speaks, his voice more like a rumbling animal sound than human speech.

 

“Logan,” she answers back with deep affection. “I’ve missed you. We all miss you.” To Steve’s dismay, she embraces the stranger. Between the darkness and the exceedingly messy beard, Steve and Bucky still cannot make out a face though his scent is undeniably human and, to their shock, almost familiar. The stranger’s eyes pierce through the darkness of the cave, shining bright. They fixate on the two men who stand by the entrance while he holds Zaara in his arms.

 

“Knocked up again, eh?” the man called Logan observes gruffly, nostrils twitching. “Who did it this time? One o’ them clowns over there?”

 

“LOGAN!?” Zaara shrieks. She staggers backwards in disbelief and nearly trips over a sharp rock.

 

“Hey,” he calls, putting up his arms up for her eyes have become daggers. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

 

Staring at him for a moment, Zaara bursts into tears and runs out of the cave, slapping away Steve’s arm when he tries to stop her. “Zaara, wait!” he cries, but he can’t move. He can’t follow her. He’s frozen to the spot.

 

“It’s alright, pal,” Bucky grabs Steve by the shoulders, half-restraining him, half-comforting him. “She needs a minute. She’s had a shock. Poor doll.”

 

“Will she be alright?” Steve whispers helplessly, hating to let her go. _Knocked up?_

 

“’Course she will,” Logan emerges from the darkness and joins them where the sunlight reaches the mouth of the cave. Nostrils twitching again, he takes in the scent of the two men. With an involutnary growl of recognition, he ignores the unexpected sense of familiarity in his gut. _My damn mind's tricked me too many times._ “She’s good at havin’ babies. She’ll be just fine.”

 

Something about his cocksure tone makes Steve see red. Fighting the urge to strike him down, he turns to face the strange, dirty man. A lethal light shines in his eyes. “You know what you’re talking about, do you?”

 

“Sure I do, bub,” the man called Logan pulls a tattered cigar out of his pocket and chews off the stub contemplatively. With eyes locked on Steve, he spits it out onto the earthen floor. “Ain’t no big deal.”

 

“It is to her,” Bucky demurs, regarding the unkempt man with deep suspicion. _Zaara? Pregnant? How? We never touched her. And why the hell does his voice sound familiar? Can hardly pick out his scent in all this filth._ But Zaara abruptly releases her hold on them and they are free to exit the cave. She’s crying—he can tell. She's consumed by her own pain and he prays she’ll let him go to her. Bucky swiftly heads outside. Steve follows, Logan right behind him.

 

“Ain’t no big deal livin’ in a cave, ain’t no big deal havin’ a baby,” the Wolverine mutters, searching his tattered, greasy pockets for a match.

 

“Watch your step,” Steve warns, but he is frightened by Zaara’s departure. His eyes lock on Bucky.

 

Logan laughs bitterly. “You barged into _my_ cave, bub.”

 

Bucky, bewildered as he beholds the man's unshaven face in the light of day, shivers. _I know this guy._

 

Steve catches the same tattletale expression on the wild man's face and his heart throbs, torn in two. _Zaara’s pregnant. Is that what I smelled? And I recognize this man—I knew him once. But from where?_

 

Logan narrows his eyes. "Whattaya lookin' at, bub?"

 

_Bub._

 

And Bucky knows beyond any doubt he’s seen those brown eyes before. Even though he's in shock over Zaara’s condition ( _Could that be what I was smellin’? She’s pregnant?_ ), his eyes widen. But Zaara’s sorrow pours into his mind, tears his attention away even though his senses will not quit. His sharpened supersoldier memory lasers in on the familiar face. “Steve! Look at his eyes! Do you recognize him? It’s, it's . . . _Jim Howlett_!”

 

“ _Howlett_?” Steve repeats, shocked. But he, too, cannot wrest his mind away from Zaara. That, and his rage at the crazed mountain man’s words, makes for a puzzled turn. “Zaara. I gotta get to Zaara.”

 

“Go to her,” Bucky urges, a new inkling coming to him. _She’s letting down her guard—just enough._ “I’ll stay with Howlett—Logan. Whoever he is. She won’t let me come. She’s stopping me. But she’ll let you.” _Why, Zaara? Why?_

 

“Okay,” Steve replies, a bundle of nerves. Casting a worried glance back at them, he hesitates a moment, then barrels off. Zaara’s trail is not difficult to follow. It only takes a breath before he finds her seated on a log beneath a small grove of trees, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Darling? Darling, are you alright?”

 

Unable to speak, she heaves a few more sobs. Steve takes her in his arms and pulls her directly onto his lap, soothing and crooning. “It’s alright, darling, it’s alright. I’m here. Everything’s gonna be alright.”

 

It takes a while before she finally speaks, struggling to form words. “I’m pregnant, Steve. _Pregnant_. Why did it have to happen again? Oh, god!” The deluge of tears resurges and it feels as if her entire body is being drained. If Steve wasn’t holding onto her, she’d sink down to the ground and not even notice.

 

 _Did she just say what I think she said?_ With utmost tenderness, Steve brushes away the tears that won’t stop and whispers in her ear. “ _Pregnant_? For real?”

 

Squeezing her eyes shut, she nods silently.

 

His heart does a somersault of joy.

 

Zaara’s eyes widen and she clasps her hand to her mouth, shocked to read his feelings. _Joy. Happiness. Rapture. Is that how you feel, Steve?_ His emotions pose such a contrast to her own she can cannot hold them all together. After a final sob, she sits lifeless and numb.

 

“Darling,” Steve coos softly, painfully aware that his jubilation could only hurt her now. _I’d better keep a lid on it._ He restrains himself and concentrates on _her and_ how she feels, trying to anticipate what she needs. “Do you know for sure?”

 

Clearing her throat for it feels so sore, she speaks in a broken voice. “Logan can scent things . . . It wasn’t his fault . . . just smelled it on me. Pregnancy makes you smell different.”

 

 _Your scent? Is that what Bucky was smelling? I smelled it, too. Bucky said he noticed it last night, in bed. Could it . . . Could it have been me? Is this baby mine?_ Memories of their date come crashing through his mind in a dizzying rush. He remembers kissing her, touching her, the startling glow of pink light throbbing all over her body . . . With a sigh, he tells himself it doesn’t matter. All that matters now is that Zaara needs comfort. And acceptance. “Darling,” he begins. “I’m so, so sorry. We’re gonna take care of this. We’ll take care of you, do whatever you need. It’s gonna be alright. I love you so much.” But he cannot stop the secret joy in his heart. _She's my girl. And she’s having a baby—and it’ll be my baby, too. It's gotta be._ It’s just about the most exciting moment of his life. Love for Zaara and love for Ellie and Henry and this new baby floods his heart and he suppresses tears of happiness in a longing to do everything he can to comfort her. _She needs me. She let me come to her. I gotta take care of her._ He covers her face with his kisses.

 

“They told me,” her voice breaks into more sobs. “. . . They told me this could happen again. Back in Asgard.” _By hook or by crook, Freia’s power shall have its way._

 

“Told you what, darling?” he asks as gently as he can, nuzzling her cheek against his own, letting her tears wet his face.

 

“Every four years,” she trembles. “Every four years Freia’s power produces offspring. _By hook or by crook._ Freia maidens are bound to have babies. Even if they don’t want them.”

 

He nods silently, waiting.

 

“Henry,” she bites her lip, trying to hold back another wave of tears. “Henry turns four this year.”

 

Steve heaves a huge sigh, sorry for her pain despite his own burning joy. He lowers his voice, posing a question. "Is this how Ellie and Henry came into the world?”

 

“Yes,” she whispers, shame-faced.

 

But Steve won’t have it. He lifts her up and makes her look into his eyes. “Darling, you have nothing to be ashamed of. This is just one of your gifts. You make beautiful babies. And they grow into wonderful kids. You’re the best mother they could ever have and this baby will be no different. We’ll love it like crazy, even if you can’t believe that right now. Bucky and I are here for you, we’ll be here every step of the way. You won’t be alone. Not for one minute.” He squeezes her extra tight and gives her a deeper kiss, this time on her lips.

 

“Alone,” she laughs bitterly. “I’ve been a single parent for six years, Steve. Now I gotta do it all over again. It was never my choice.”

 

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” Steve presses his lips to her cheek and clutches her body to his heart. “I got you. Whatever you’re feeling . . . it’s alright. Feel whatever you need to feel. Just know . . . it’s going to get better. We’re here for you. We love you. Nothing else matters.” He kisses her hair, envelopes her fully in his embrace and she collapses into him. He has never felt so needed, so certain of himself. Zaara is his and this baby will be his, too—no matter who or what fathered it. Rocking her gently until her sobs dissipate, he feels a new confidence and a new sense of purpose.

 

“I have to take a test,” Zaara murmurs, despondent.

 

“A test?” he repeats, perplexed, but his arms tell her otherwise. His arms hold her with a strength she cannot fathom. They shield her from the world and tell her she is his, that she belongs to him. They form a haven where she can be safe, as if the words he speaks are true, as if everything really is going to be alright. Those arms make her feel solid, they stop her body from slipping down into the rocks and quagmire and her tether to Bucky re-opens with a startling rush so that he, too, reads her thoughts and feelings while his best friend comforts her, the woman he loves, cradles her with loving arms in the face of a destiny she cannot overcome.

 

“A pregnancy test,” she sighs, forcing her mind back to reality. _He’s probably never heard of them—he's from the greatest generation._ She’s not at her best in this moment and she can’t even think about helping Logan—she’s not ready. Still, she won’t abandon him again. He must come with them. _Bucky. Get Logan in the car. I don’t care how you do it._ She looks up at Steve. “We’ll stop at the pharmacy and buy a test. I can take it at the hotel. Then we’ll see.”

 

“Alright,” Steve agrees, cupping her face in his hands. “Zaara—believe me when I say it’ll be alright.”

 

She sees the spark of joy in his eyes. He really cannot hide it. _He looks excited, as if he’s gonna be a father. Like pure bliss. How can he comfort me when I’m so miserable?_ _I’ve never seen him so happy._ “Okay, Steve. Alright. We’ll do the test. It has to be official.” Slowly, they make their way back to the cave, Steve’s arm around her the whole time. To her relief, Bucky is waiting with Logan, ready to wrestle the Wolverine and fight with everything he’s got to keep him for her. Loyal, as always.

 

_Welcome back, doll. Glad you made it. You know you’re my everything._

 

“Logan.” She forces herself to speak firmly, though her voice sounds like tears. “We’re going. I know you have nothing to pack.”

 

“Alright, kid,” the Wolverine huffs, chastened. “I’ll come. But don’t be surprised if it don’t work out.”

 

“It’s time,” she counters, forcing her heart a tiny distance away from her own pain. “This is no life for you. You're needed at home. We’ll never abandon you again.”

 

Logan nods slightly and, for once, keeps his mouth shut.

 

Bucky follows them to the car, their hike a grim and somber one. The former Winter Soldier feels every jot of her pain for she is too overwhelmed to block it from him. He knows how much she adores Steve, that she’s intrigued by his elation over the baby even while she grapples with the surprise of yet another unexplained pregnancy. The way in which she fears and dreads her Asgardian heritage gives him pause. _Doll, you gotta trust us. We’re with you—to the end of the line. We don’t care what anyone says or how you think things are supposed to be. We love this baby already. And we love you most of all. Steve is right. It’ll all work out._

 

Slowing her rapid stride, she pauses. Steve blinks in surprise. “Thanks, Bucky,” she says quietly. “We’ve gotta get to a pharmacy.”

 

“Sure thing, doll,” he nods, keeping one eye on Logan. When they reach the car, the Wolverine and the Winter Soldier take their seats in the back. Steve gallantly holds the door open and helps her climb in, his hand supporting her elbow. Zaara smiles to herself. _Like I’ve already got a big old belly and can’t even haul myself into a car. Oh, well. Might as well let him pamper me. He loves it._

 

Indeed, the expression on Steve’s face tells her he’s over the moon. When he takes the wheel, he drives extra carefully, looking over to beam her sheer adoration whenever they come to a stop sign. _Like a lovestruck fool_ , she thinks _. Why he wants me to be his girl, I can’t imagine._ All the while, Bucky sends her more love and encouragement than she can fathom, though she can barely manage to receive it. It is simply beyond her right now. Bucky doesn’t fuss over how this baby happened or who the father might be and he really doesn’t care (though he figures it’s probably Steve). For him, all that matters is that she’s safe and happy. And though he longs to hold her in his arms, he knows he’ll have to wait. _Let’s just get through this test, Bucky. Make it official. I’ll figure it out from there._ Bucky reaches over from the backseat and rests his flesh hand on her shoulder, stroking her with his thumb the way she loves most. Logan grunts unhappily, but keeps his mouth shut. Zaara reads his silent apology, knowing the Wolverine can’t help his own nose.  When they finally reach town, Steve pulls into the nearest pharmacy and parks the car.

 

“The three of you can go,” Zaara murmurs, sounding worn. “I’d like to be by myself for a while, if you don’t mind.”

 

“Will you stay in the car?” Steve asks worriedly, as if he can’t trust her not to disappear.

 

“Of course I’ll stay in the car,” she gives a bitter smile. “Where would I go?”

 

“She’s still tethered to me,” Bucky adds, as if to quell his fear. “It’ll be alright, Steve.”

 

“You’re tethered?” Logan smirks. “Been there, done that, bub.”

 

“Yes. We're tethered,” Bucky announces proudly, as if it is the best thing that has ever happened to him.

 

“Just go,” Zaara slaps her hand on her forehead, acting the martyr. “Hurry up. I don’t have all day.”

 

“Sure thing, doll,” Steve says softly, and plants a tender kiss on her cheek before he’s out the door. He exchanges tentative grins with Bucky as they wait for Logan to exit the car. At the same moment, they both recognize the Wolverine in the light of day. He looks scruffier than they remember but not a day older than when they last saw him in 1944. Neither of them comments. Zaara beams Bucky a warning to save it for later and he wholeheartedly agrees.

 

The men head inside the pharmacy.

 

A lone clerk glances up from her romance novel and catches her breath at the sight of them—three tall, strapping woodsmen. Her eyes nearly pop out of her head as she scrambles to unlock her phone. The men wander up and down the aisles somberly while she tracks them through the security camera, double checking to make sure it’s recording the footage before she uses the zoom function to laser in on the trilogy of manly thighs and buttocks. With a sigh of contentment, she uploads the images onto her Pinterest page. Wracking her brain for a suitable title, she settles on Softcore Lumberjack. 

 

Oblivious, the three of them stick close as they silently peruse a mind-boggling array of personal care products. Whenever Bucky dares to select an item or make a query, Steve has to shoot him down. The former Winter Soldier has no experience shopping in any kind of store since he fell off that train back in 1945. Steve gently re-directs him and leads the way. Confronted by cosmetics and elixirs he could not decipher to save his life, not to mention dozens of mysterious feminine hygiene products, Bucky feels more lost than he did in Bucharest. Logan brings up the rear, offering nothing, never having had much need for pharmaceuticals. All too soon, he wanders off. It takes only moments for Bucky to spot him, his face stuck a dirty magazine. Sighing interminably, Steve drags them both down another aisle, scanning for pregnancy tests.

 

“Damnit, Howlett,” he curses under his breath. “I mean, Logan. Don’t make this any harder than it already is.” With one eye on the curious clerk who won’t stop staring, he grits his teeth and drags them to the back corner of the shop which seems to be the only place they haven’t checked yet. A vast assortment of condoms and other prophylactics greet them, many of them locked behind a case of glass. Steve feels the tips of his ears go red. Thankfully, they have finally found what they were looking for.

 

An alarm sounds. “Can I help you gentlemen?” the clerk hollers from her position at the front of the store, knowing they are in the birth control aisle.

 

Bucky and Logan fight an impulse to panic, as if they have done something wrong. “Let me,” Steve warns in a low voice. “I’m leading this mission.” He glances over the shelves and nods in acknowledgement. “Thanks, ma’am. We’re doing just fine.” Quickly taking stock, he locates a solitary pregnancy test on an upper shelf. Thankfully, it is not behind the glass. It gives him slight pause. Feeling more than ever like a man out of time, he grabs it and checks the expiration date. “We’re good,” he asserts and marches to the front of the store. Bucky and Logan follow and stand by solemnly, three men in a row. None of them says a word. Steve places the pregnancy test gingerly upon the counter and fumbles for his wallet.

 

The clerk stares at each man in turn. They stare back at her vacantly. Her eyes return to the box. “Fellas . . .” she muses, thinking it through carefully. She glances back up at them and narrows her eyes. “You three know this test ain’t gonna tell you who’s the daddy, right?”

 

Steve struggles not to choke. Bucky’s face resorts to a default Winter Soldier scowl. Logan tears open a bag of Doritos, canting his head in their direction. “Wasn’t me, toots. Was one o’ these knuckleheads.”

 

Steve wishes he could sink into the floor.

 

When they return to the car, Zaara is cradling her face in her hands, trapped between laughter and tears. “Oh . . . My . . . God.”

 

“Never mind,” Steve smiles forcefully, trying to banish embarrassment away. He starts the engine. “It’s nobody’s business but our own.”

 

“Ain’t that the truth,” Logan chortles.

 

“Corporal Howlett,” Bucky mutters.

 

“Corporal _who_?” Logan asks, sudden fear throbbing in his heart. _Why does he keep calling me that? And why does it sound so familiar?_

 

“Bucky,” Zaara touches his arm, grateful for the distraction. “We’ll get to that later. One thing at a time.”

 

“Whatever you say, doll,” Bucky purrs, catching Steve’s hard glare in the rearview mirror.

_Later._

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Alone again, the men wait silently while Zaara sequesters herself in the master bedroom. Bucky reclines on a queen-size bed while Logan stretches out on the couch. Steve paces back and forth across the floor, restless. After a while, the door opens a crack, but Zaara doesn’t make an appearance. Instead, she retreats back inside, leaving the door ajar. The men exchange glances, trying to figure out what it means.

 

 _Doll?_ Bucky reaches out to her.

 

_Send Steve._

 

 _You got it._ Bucky nods at his best friend who quickly gets the message. Wordlessly, Steve makes his way to the door, closing it tight behind him. Bucky turns and glares at Logan. “You. Bathtub. Now.”

 

“Aw, shit,” the Wolverine groans.

 

“Do you want me to scrub out your mouth, too?” Bucky snorts. “ _Language,_ Howlett. We’re gettin’ you cleaned up. She’s cryin’ now, all hurtin’ from what’s happened. I want you clean and scrubbed before she sees you again--and before you sleep on that bed next to mine. Better open the windows, too, air this place out.”

 

“No,” Logan snarls.

 

“Don’t push me,” Bucky warns. “Do it for her. I’ll do the washin’ if you don’t wanna. I’d do _anything_ for her. So don’t push me.”

 

Thinking it over, the Wolverine sighs in resignation and surrenders. “Fine. But I scrub my unmentionables. Unless she asked you to do _that_ for her.”

 

Bucky grimaces at the thought. “Naw. She didn't. Good thing, too. You're filthy.”

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Steve’s heart pounds even faster when he sees Zaara sitting there on the bed, waiting for him. “Darling, is it true? Are you pregnant?” he asks softly, fighting to keep the joy out of his voice.

 

She gives a silent nod.

 

“Sweetheart,” he rushes to embrace her, kissing her the way he wanted to in the forest. He can’t hold back—not anymore.

 

Zaara allows it, wishing his kisses would burn away her sorrow. She had prayed for this to never happen again. After what they told her in Asgard, her heart had been full of dread. She can barely remember going on their date last night, but she hears the sound of her own voice in her head _. If that’s what you want to call me . . . I’m your girl._ It feels like a dream. All she can think now is that she needs Steve, she has to have him, needs to be in his arms again. Though she slept a few hours on the Blackbird, she’s bone tired, dreary, and ready to rest as long as she’s in his arms.

 

He lays her gently down upon the bed, and knows that though her tears have stopped, she’s still crying inside. He holds her a good long while, pulling up the covers to keep her warm. Leaving her for a moment, he fetches her suitcase. Without a word, he finds her pajamas and brings them to her. She pays no attention but simply lies there, her body curling into a ball. Finally, he curls himself around her, his lips in her hair. She smells so sweet, so delicious that he can’t help kissing her again. His affection undoes her and she lets herself weep, hoping it will be for the last time. When the tears finally ease off, she whispers to him. “Steve, I hope I’m done with the crying. I’m so tired.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” he whispers, stroking her with a touch so tender and soothing it undoes her completely. _He loves me—so much. I don’t know why._ “Do whatever you need. Fall asleep. It’s alright. I brought you pajamas if you want ‘em.”

 

Sighing, she sits up and rubs her wet eyes. “Thanks.” She takes the pajamas and heads to the en-suite bathroom. Brushing her teeth, she gazes at her reddened face in the mirror. Her sad eyes remind her that she is not alone; that Steve is out there, waiting for her. _What more could a girl want?_ And still Bucky beams his love to her, even if she is not yet ready to receive it. She knows he reads her pain, saw the results of the test the same moment she did. And he is ready to hold her, too, as soon as she lets him. _One at a time,_ she tells herself, for more would be too much—more than she could face at the moment. Finally, she knows for certain that Freia spoke the truth. All that she learned in Asgard is real and is, in fact, her destiny. How she longs to run from thought and feeling, from everything that looms over her, the voices that shame her for getting pregnant again, for becoming a single mother for the third time. She squeezes her eyes shut in despair. _It’s not my fault._

 

_No, it ain’t, doll. It was never your fault. We love you just the way you are. We think you’re perfect. We love those kids and we can’t wait to have this baby. This is the best thing that could ever happen to us, even if you’re hurting right now. We love you. Believe it. Everything’s gonna be alright._

 

_Thanks, Bucky. I’m gonna go to sleep now. Unless you need me. Do you?_

 

_Nah. I’m alright, doll. I’m busy scrubbing your Wolverine here. Boy, he smells._

 

 _My hero. Thanks for that—you’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din._ She smiles with her eyes closed. Steve notices.

 

_I’m tryin’ to think back on Corporal Howlett, by the way. All those memories. But it’s hard._

_I can help you with that Bucky. I promise. Tomorrow._

_Sleep tight, sweetheart. You deserve it._

 

_Thanks, my Hunka-hunka burnin’ love._

 

 _Anytime, doll_.

 

And she heads back to bed where Steve sits, waiting for her. He pulls the covers open and gestures for her to climb in. She hesitates, then joins him. Giving her a chaste kiss on the forehead, he rises, as if to leave.

 

“Steve, wait,” she protests. “Don’t go. Please.”

 

“Sweetheart,” he demurs. “You know I can’t stay. Not with you—not like this.”

 

“Yes, you can,” she says firmly, her eyes throwing him an unexpected challenge. It makes his heart skip a beat. “I _want_ you to stay with me. _From now on._ ”

 

And his heart skips two more beats.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Night comes quickly.

 

Zaara is dead asleep.

 

Bucky and Logan have gone to bed. One of them snores and makes an awful racket. Steve has no doubt who is responsible. All the same, he is relieved he won’t have to hunt down the Wolverine in the dark. He tries to make himself comfortable at Zaara’s side, always watching her. She’s so beautiful in her slumber it gives him a sort of happiness he has never known and never thought possible. It’s a lot for him to process and it is late before he leaves her and heads for the restroom to change his clothes and brush his teeth. When he returns, Zaara hasn’t moved a muscle. He climbs into bed and wraps himself around her again, not caring that he stiffens. Kissing the back of her neck, he gives a sigh of contentment, as if she is finally his. In his mind, he imagines the tiny life quickening deep inside her and sends it all the love he can muster, pressing his lips to the back of her neck.

 

Nothing has ever felt so right.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

A little while before dawn, Zaara wakes. Though her tears have worn her out, even she cannot sleep more than ten hours. Steve slumbers lightly by her side, but when she sits up, he tightens his arm around her. “Steve,” she murmurs, yawning. “I need the bathroom.” He releases her and she runs off. When she comes out again, she stands in the doorway and gazes upon him where he lies in bed. He smiles at her sleepily, eyes half-open, and she marvels at him. _So handsome, so sweet to me._ Returning to bed, she props herself up on the pillows and pulls the blanket over her lap. The sun won’t rise for another hour; there are no telltale cracks of light to pierce through the curtains—not yet. She sighs and Steve rolls over, resting his head in her lap. Her fingers stroke his dirty blonde hair absently. “Steve?”

 

“Mmm,” he murmurs back, surprised at how tired he is, but enjoying her touch anyways.

 

“I feel a bit better.”

 

“Good,” he says, waking fully now. He craves her touch like a flower craves water. Turning his face towards her, he smiles. “Good morning, by the way.”

 

“Good morning--almost,” she smiles, bending down to kiss his lips. He kisses her back, cupping her head in his huge hand so that she sinks down and captures his tongue in her mouth. Their kiss, at first sweet and tender, transforms to hot and heavy in the blink of an eye and she finds herself pining for him. “Mmm,” she moans when they are finally forced to come up for air.

 

A heavy blush colours his face and Zaara’s pink glow intensifies, not unlike the way it did the night of their date. It takes on the shade of guava with tiny splashes of fuscia. Sitting up, Steve lifts her effortlessly and places her in the center of his lap. They kiss again, Zaara surprised to find herself clinging to his bare chest for he wears only pajama pants and nothing else. She has only ever felt him this way when they went swimming in Wakanda. It had been too cool to swim outside this spring, but her mind wanders for Steve’s body is quite the distraction. “I’m so glad,” he murmurs in between kisses. “I love you so much. Zaara, I’m so glad . . .” But he doesn’t finish his sentence.

 

For a while, she luxuriates in his affection, but she cannot be left hanging. After a good deal of waiting, she prompts him. “Glad about what?”

 

Steve cannot stop himself. “So glad . . . we’re having a baby . . .” He will not stifle his confession, cannot hold it back. Zaara is more beautiful to him than ever and he’s never felt such joy. It reminds him of his mother, makes him imagine how happy she’d be about this baby. She always believed in him, always felt he’d be a father someday. _Ma, you were right. I am gonna be a father._

 

Zaara’s heart pounds in her chest. “Steve—”

 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he pleads, begging her forgiveness. He hates to speak so openly about his joy while she is so clearly in pain.

 

“You didn’t hurt me,” she admits reluctantly. “It’s just . . . kind of hard to get used to.”

 

“Could you . . . will you ever be able to feel happy about it?” he asks tentatively, his huge hand resting on her belly. Happiness practically radiates from his skin; she can read it plain as day.

 

 _He’s happy. Steve is happy I’m having a baby. My God._ “I’ll get there,” she hems. “I love Henry and I love Ellie. I can love this baby, too, even if I didn’t plan on it. It’s just . . . it’s a lot right now.”

 

“You’re right,” he agrees, stopping himself from saying more. To her surprise, he gazes at her in a new way, desire pooling in his eyes.

 

 _Uh-oh._ For the first time, she realizes they are sharing a bed—alone. The door is closed and they are alone. The sun has not risen. Steve kisses her again and she can’t stop herself from kissing him back, sharing long, fervent kisses that are definitely building up to something. Some part of her, still tethered to Bucky, struggles to put up a shield and hide her feelings from him. But her body refuses to cooperate. Drowning in desire for Steve, she succumbs, surrendering to his touch while her hands indulge in doing some touching of their own.

 

“Zaara, I love you,” he murmurs as he traces his lips down her throat and forgets everything else, forgets the whole world. With a shiver,he feels each of her fingers trace the muscular ridges across the smoothness of his chest. “I loved you from the moment I saw you in Wakanda. I wanted you to be mine. I knew we belong together.” He cannot stop his mouth from tracing kisses up and down her chest through her pajama shirt, cannot tear his lips away from her skin while he talks. “You sure you want this, darling?” he asks, afraid he may sound disingenuous. “’Cause I’m gonna have trouble stopping if we go any further.” _I'd have trouble stopping now. I love her so much. I’ve waited so long._

 

“No,” she sighs in a mangled whisper. “Don’t stop.” And she kisses him back. For the first time, he wraps his body around hers and lets her feel everything—his warmth, his passion, his desire for her. Squirming erotically to and fro, touching him with her every part of her body, Zaara does not shy away. Her body moves instinctually and passionately, mad with need, and he receives her with untrammeled joy.

 

“Mmm,” he groans and runs his hands up and down her, allows his mouth to explore whatever bare patch of skin it can find. Somehow, his face ends up in the cleavage of her modest pajamas. Her scent overwhelms him and he nearly comes from the mere closeness of it. He’s learned enough about sex, heard enough from Bucky and the other fellas in his time, and he wants more than anything to make it good for her. “I’ll go slow,” he whispers. “You tell me to stop if I do anything you don’t like. Promise?”

 

For a moment, Zaara is jarred. But she soon understands Steve’s hesitation for, even in his passion (and she can read it fully, all the things he longs to do to her body), he doesn’t want to leave her out of it.  Indeed, the thought of pleasing her seems to be what arouses him most. With a gasp, she curls her fingers into his hair and presses his face to her breasts, dizzy from the images in his mind. “Steve,” she says breathlessly. “I want everything you want to do to me.”

 

His face reddens, his body heat rises, and his pulse races so fast he wonders if he’ll explode. _It’s too much, doll. Too much._ He cannot speak. Pushing himself up, he places his hands over both her shoulders and stares down at her. It takes a moment, but he makes his plea in a crackling voice. “Alright, darling. Alright. Just tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”

 

Laughing, she shakes her head. “No. Keep going. _Please._ ”

 

And he moves his large hands down to the buttons of her pajama shirt. So skilled and fearless in battle, those same hands fumble to complete their task now and it takes a few moments before he can undo even a single button. One by one, they fall away as Zaara’s chest rises up and down with excitement. The modest pajama shirt opens and Steve can barely hold himself together at the sight of her fulsome breasts. Already they shine with her sweat and traces of his own saliva. With a needy groan, he kisses her mouth first, and then plants his own mouth greedily over each soft, creamy breast to lap and suckle her pink nipples, caressing her with such reverence and slavish devotion it makes her feel drunk.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Bucky bites the inside of his mouth and wakes, beads of sweat upon his brow. Running his fingers through his damp hair, he heads for the bathroom, glancing back at Logan to make sure he’s still asleep in bed. Running the bath, he strips off his clothes and climbs inside. The hot water pours down upon him and he grasps his cock, silky smooth and hard as a rock, body thrumming in tandem with Zaara’s.

 

He feels every touch and every caress as she makes love to his best friend.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Zaara drowns in bliss.

 

Steve savors every inch of her naked flesh, womanly softness and scent driving him mad with need. He even takes her fingers in his mouth with a hunger that astonishes her, tasting each one by one. Begging her permission with wanton blue eyes, he draws his face down her abdomen, not unlike the way he did the night of their date. Kissing the silken skin of her lower belly, he beams love to the tiny, burgeoning life that dwells within her and whispers again, “I love you, darling. Forever.” Zaara tangles her fingers in his dirty blonde hair while he pours his love into her. Glancing up to make sure she’s alright, he gently tugs down her pajama pants to reveal the soft hairs over her pubic bone. The sight of it elicits a deep moan of longing from both of them. She strokes his head, urging him on. With her blessing upon him, he lowers his face and does what he longed to do the night on their date and tastes her, lips and tongue burying themselves in her heat. Zaara gives a small jerk of surprise so that he must hold down her hips to keep her still and continue this long-awaited communion. Kissing her folds the same way he loves to kiss her mouth, she trembles, knowing she is close. He uses his fingers to stroke and tease, gently encouraging her and, with a few quick thrusts of her hips, she comes all over him, his fingers continuing to urge her on until she sees stars and loses herself completely, chanting his name over and over again.

 

Steve dies inside. He’s so hard he can’t think what to do and, before he knows it, he’s on top of her, the tip of his manhood detecting tiny, persistent flutters in her pink folds as they tremble with aftershock. Their first coupling happens so suddenly he is made dizzy by her warmth and she marvels at his smoothness, the way he fits so perfectly inside her, how it feels incredibly natural, as if he has always belonged there. His firm, silky warmth is anything but an intrusion, even if it surprises her—a true homecoming. The hard, knotted muscles of his body overwhelm her with their strength and remind her of how much she has longed to feel him against her, to feel this body cover her own, loving the contrast between soft and hard, what yields and what is rigid. And, in the midst of it all, loving the unique and amazing man that is Steve. Struggling to keep his thrusts slow and deliberate, he soon speeds up and loses control, jutting her hard and making his way to a desperate, much-needed deliverance. She feels each and every blissful moment of his ecstasy for it spills into her mind and body both until she comes again, harder this time, legs wrapped around him tight while he lifts her up off the bed in the final moment of his blessed release.

 

“I love you, Zaara,” he gasps in a voice both ragged and joyful. “I love you so much.”

 

“I love you too, Steve,” she whispers, stroking his arm, her fingers caressing all those smooth, knotted muscles while silent tears stream from her eyes. His face is buried in her breasts so he doesn’t see, but she really isn’t crying--not really. In truth, she has never felt so happy. “You’re everything I could ever want. Steve, I’m . . . I’m sorry I took so long.”

 

“How long it took doesn’t matter,” he protests, a lump thickening in his throat. “You came to me. That’s what matters.”

 

“No,” she disagrees. “I fought it, I put it off. I wasted so much time . . . I love you and . . . I don’t know if you can forgive me.”

 

“Sweetheart, there’s nothing to forgive,” Steve smiles his sweetest smile and caresses her cheek tenderly. “You had to be sure. I love you so much. I want to be the father of this baby and all your children. Ellie and Henry. If you’ll have me.”

 

She suppresses a sob. _Enough crying._ “If you want to, Steve.”

 

“I do,” he insists, eyes burning with an intensity she’s never seen before and she realizes beyond any shadow of a doubt he means it. “ _Very_ much.”

 

“I . . .” she swallows, struggling to keep it together. “I couldn’t imagine anyone better for the job.” And she falls into his arms again.

 

Bucky knows it, too. Naked in the tub, he feels the water rush over him in a strange sort of baptism. He thinks of his best friend, his girl, the softening cock he holds in his hand. Closing his eyes, he sighs.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Later, Bucky has to turn on the TV to drown out the sounds of the lovemaking that continues in the next room. The early morning light starts pouring through the windows and casts a soft glow upon his white, beard-peppered cheeks. After a while, it manages to wake Logan, who has some choice words when the smitten lovebirds finally emerge. "Look pal, I don’t know what kinda soap opera you people got going on around here,” he grouches when the two of them finally emerge from the master suite. “But I ain’t participatin’.”

 

“Who asked you, Howlett?” Bucky’s face turns sour.

 

“Howlett? Who the hell is Howlett?” At the sound of the name, the Wolverine is still taken aback.

 

“Logan,” Zaara says softly. She is dressed in her travel clothes. Steve looks fetching in a pair of denim jeans and a tight blue button-down shirt. “What you feel . . . what you think . . . It’s true.”

 

“True?” he scoffs. “I stopped tryin’ to sort out truth from fiction a long time ago. Ever since _she_ died.”

 

“Logan, I’ve seen the memories in Bucky’s mind,” Zaara continues, undaunted. “He _has_ no false memories; not like you. They didn't slice and dice him. They only rebooted him, put him on ice—over and over again. His memories are true.”

 

“Yeah, and what does he know?” he spits out the question so bitterly it makes Steve fear for her.

 

“I’ll show you,” she says quietly, leaving Steve to marvel at the display of her powers. In the middle of the room, a series of moving visions unfold before his eyes, forming a montage of the Howling Commando. Suddenly, it feels like 1944 again. There they are, storming Hydra bases, forsaken castles, underground compounds, mountains, and ravines. Howlett is at his side, taking down the enemy like it’s nobody’s business. Those claws unfurl time and again to do their damage, Bucky battling away in his old pea coat and rifle, and he in his stars and stripes, all of them torn, bloody, exhausted. _The best of times, the worst of times,_ he thinks and knows for certain now that Zaara’s Wolverine is indeed the one and only James Howlett, an old Canadian war buddy who stuck with him through thick and thin, a guy he could always count on, who would follow Captain America into the jaws of death and make it out again, alive.

 

Bucky glances at Steve knowingly, the two of them having shared few wartime memories since he woke from the ice. It hurt too much. Whenever they speak of the past, it is almost always of Brooklyn—not the war. But they do share these violent memories, and now Zaara passes them on to Howlett, who has forgotten them.

 

“Logan,” she rouses him gently from his stupor. “Logan, do you remember any of it? Just relax; it’ll come. These memories are rough, but nowhere near as bad as some of the other stuff. Trust me. You were a hero then. So were they. You were friends.”

 

The Wolverine seems saddened. “Hard to go there, toots.”

 

“I know,” she acknowledges. “But it’ll be worth it. You’ll have a part of your life back again—your _real_ life. Not just some false memory from Stryker. And you’ll have some old friends back, too.” She glances sharply at Steve, then Bucky, and they both know what she wants.

 

 _I’ll be his friend, doll,_ Bucky assures her. _But he was a stubborn jerk back then and he ain’t no different now._

_You’re right,_ she admits, suppressing a smile. _Why do you think I had to dig him out of that cave?_

 

 _At least he let me give him a bath,_ Bucky smirks ruefully.

 

“Jim Howlett,” Steve interjects. “You were a good friend, a true ally. You fought for the Canadians, in the Black Watch. Colonel Chester Phillips recruited you for the Howling Commandos in 1942. We assaulted Hydra bases all across Europe. You were my right-hand man on lots of mission—many of them covert.”

 

Logan snorts. “Thought them red, white, and blue pajamas you wore looked familiar. That was some get-up.”

 

Steve and Bucky exchange grins.

 

“It’ll take time, Logan,” Zaara adds, putting her arm around his shoulders and giving him a good squeeze. “Luckily, we have lots of time. But I still have a mission to complete.”

 

“A mission?” he snorts, incredulous. “In _your_ condition?”

 

“Well, of course I’m completely helpless,” she deadpans. “Tomorrow we fly to California. I have to pick up somebody. But I don’t want you involved. In fact,” she continues, looking over at her two favourite men. “I should probably go alone. All three of you can wait on the Blackbird.”

 

Steve stares at her defiantly, but says nothing.

 

“Fat chance, sweetheart,” Bucky grins.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Steve doesn’t like it.

 

He’s watching Zaara pack her suitcase again. To her credit, she’s kept it quite neat even though the small bag is so overstuffed she can barely zip it shut. She seems intent and focused on her task, almost as if they hadn’t found out the good news. Having slept a second night by her side, he is almost glad of it. Sex is a huge distraction for them both right now and he really cannot get enough of her. Yet he’s seen the way she casts worried glances at Bucky whenever the four of them are together and, if he didn’t know better, he’d think she’s begging his forgiveness. But for Steve, there’s nothing to forgive. In his mind, everything is right. Finally, Zaara is his. He has her body and he has her love and he has a future that’s so bright it burns his eyes.

 

She’s hasn’t agreed to marry him—not yet. But he won’t worry about that. _It’ll take time_ , he decides. It doesn’t matter to him whether it happens before or after the baby comes. The sooner the better, as far as he's concerned, but as long as it happens, it’s fine by him. Zaara knows how he feels about Ellie and Henry. He doesn’t plan on changing the way things are with them, more or less. He figures he’ll ease them into it when they get back home. Perhaps someday they will come to call him Daddy. Or Papa. _When this mystery mission is over and done with_ , he tells himself. _I won’t pressure them._

 

But that’s just the problem. Now more than he ever, he is loathe to let her do things alone. Her remarkable scent, which he now knows is a mark of pregnancy, makes him even more protective than usual and that’s saying a lot. Waiting on the Blackbird is simply not an option. And so, anticipating the long hike to their rental car, he sticks by her side like white on rice. Bucky is to remain on the jet with Howlett. Zaara plans to extend their tether yet again, courtesy of Forge’s tech, and the former Winter Soldier doesn’t really care. He’d fly the Blackbird to get her in a New York minute if she needs him, even if she’s in the middle of downtown San Francisco. Indeed, Steve wonders at the way she gazes at Bucky’s metal arm and tells him there’s no way in hell _he_ could possibly be of help on this mission. She warns Steve to leave all his metal gadgets on the Blackbird too, and it makes Logan roll his eyes.

 

“You don’t happen to be fetchin’ my favorite person in the world today, toots, are you?” he grouches sarcastically.

 

A look of deep sympathy takes over her face. Steve can read it a mile away. “Well,” she sighs. “I have a mission. I gotta keep a lid on it.”

 

“Balls,” the Wolverine curses, spitting out the stub of one of those stogies he always munches on. He wouldn’t dare light up within a hundred feet of Zaara now.

 

Steve follows her through the woods. They’re not so far from the car this time; just under an hour away. She saw to that, and lets Steve drive the strange vehicle which, to his eyes, is a false sort of jeep. It’s really a luxury model SUV not at all suited to off-roading, but it makes no difference. The roads are functional enough. He has to gasp when they cross the Bay Bridge because he’s never seen San Francisco before—not even during the war when he toured with the USO. It’s a real treat, though it’s difficult to quell the worry in his heart.

 

“Steve,” she smiles, putting her hand on his thigh. “You seem tense. Would it help if we pull over and make out in the backseat?”

 

He blushes. “Probably.”

 

“We could,” she says, a sparkle in her eye. “But we might miss our target if we don’t hurry. Our best bet is to get there by noon. Otherwise, we’ll lose our advantage.”

 

“Can’t have that,” he murmurs, wishing very badly she would tell him more about the mission.

 

“Alright,” she sighs.

 

“Alright?”

 

“Sometimes I can read you,” she reminds him. “Not just . . . sex, though that’s pretty consistent.”

 

“It is?” he asks, curious and getting a shade excited.

 

“It is,” she confirms sheepishly. “But I can tell you’re worried. So, let me fill you in. When we get to the park, I’ll be meeting an old man.”

 

“An old man,” he muses. “Now, what could be so dangerous about that?”

 

“You should wait a little ways off, out of sight. We’ll split before he can see us together. If I give you a nod, come over and join us. If I don’t, just follow us on the way out and keep your distance. I’ll introduce you later, when we’re far from the crowd. Can you do that?”

 

“Of course I can do that,” he frowns. It sounds too simple. “What’s the dangerous part?”

 

“Well, there’s metal buttons on your jeans. And your zipper,” she observes ruefully. She snakes her hand down his thigh and gives his crotch a quick, feathery stroke. _Why does he have to be wearing tight jeans? So damn distracting._

 

“Mmm,” he cannot help responding, but forces himself to keep his eyes on the road, even while he stiffens in his pants. “Can’t help that.”

 

“Guess not,” she agrees regretfully. “But it shouldn’t matter. He’s powerful. But I’m stronger.”

 

“Are you sure about that?” Steve sounds even more worried than before.

 

“I do everything he does backwards and in high heels,” she cocks an eyebrow and moves her hand down to his thigh, squeezing tight. “I’m more worried about _you_ , actually.”

 

“Me?”

 

“Yes, you,” she smiles. “If I call you over, you should tell him who you are. Might be a good influence on him.”

 

“Alright,” he agrees reluctantly. “If you say so.”

 

“I say so,” she replies evenly. “As long as you remember I’m in charge, everything should go smoothly.”

 

“Did I ever tell you I like it when you’re in charge?” he murmurs, making it seem naughty somehow.

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yeah,” he laughs good-naturedly. “I might like to explore that in, um, another way.”

 

“Are you flirting with me, Captain?” she laughs.

 

“I am,” he replies darkly. Not long after, they abandon the car and make their way on foot some distance across the Presidio. Before long they reach the quad. The place is filled with couples taking strolls, dogs chasing balls, children splashing in a fountain, and a cluster of elderly men seated at small chess tables. Steve stares hard at them. Some play the game, others sit alone, waiting for an opponent to challenge them.

 

“You stay here,” she tells him. They are still some distance away.

 

“Here?” he asks nervously, though it is a rather pleasant spot. He’s in the shade of some lovely trees on an unusually sunny day for San Francisco. _Guess I’ll pretend to watch the pigeons or something._ To his surprise, there seems to be quite a number of male couples here, even more than he’s seen in New York. Some hold hands, a few are kissing. _The world sure has changed since my day._ “Be careful,” he murmurs, giving her a tender kiss on the forehead.

 

“I will,” she smiles. “Don’t worry.”

 

“I worry,” he counters, drawing her close under the shade. The leaves partially conceal them with their canopy and she cannot help but shiver at his touch. It is something to be with Steve in a public park on a beautiful day, to be out together as a couple in love. Zaara has never really had a boyfriend, at least not in her life since the X-men. Still so used to hiding her true self, it is a revelation to be free and out in the open with her love for Steve, to touch him in public and not care who sees or who knows. Before she can stop herself, she succumbs to his arms, Steve cupping her face in his hands, and they share a deep, luxurious kiss. It feels, for a moment, as if this is just a romantic date in San Francisco. She sighs again, desire torturing her, then speaks with a longing he’s never heard in her voice. “It would be great to get away with you, just the two of us, sometime. I would love that.”

 

Willing his cock not to harden, Steve focuses on his heart instead. “I’d love that, too, sweetheart. But we’d better put in some time at home first, get the kids used to us being together.”

 

“Get _us_ used to being together,” she counters, drawing away from him with great reluctance. “But we have work to do.”

 

“Yeah,” he admits, sounding disappointed. “I’m right here if you need me.”

 

“I know,” she smiles. Shaking her head, she calls out a reminder. “ _Don’t_ come unless I call you.”

 

“Okay,” he says softly, watching her go. It’s time to kick himself awake. He’s back on a mission, after all, even if he doesn’t understand what the hell it’s about. The woman he loves is walking away from him, walking into some kind of danger and he doesn’t know the details, doesn’t know what makes the old man dangerous or what the hell else might be going on here today. _Too many unknowns._ It’s not something he’d ever tolerate in an Avengers’ mission, but he understands this mission is of a personal nature and he is here by his own insistence, not hers. So, he will keep quiet and do as she asks, even if it goes against his better judgment. Still, she won’t be able to stop him if he gets even the slightest inkling that something bad is about to go down—especially now, in her condition. _She told me not to wear anything metal. Could he be a mutant? Could that be his power—controlling metal?_ Surreptitiously, he watches Zaara take a seat across from one of the many non-descript gentlemen who sit alone at their chess tables. The man is dressed modestly, and wears an old-fashioned herringbone cap.

 

The two of them talk a while. Steve watches, his pulse racing. Zaara turns her head neither left or right, but focuses intently on the old chap. Lasering in with supersoldier eyes, Steve can see the man glancing about him, probably checking for reinforcements, so he retreats further back into the shade, tilting his chin towards the ground, pretending to read his cellphone. All of a sudden, Zaara turns in her seat and faces him, waving at him to join them. Trying not to break into a run, he takes a deep breath and forces himself to walk slowly and deliberately across the field to their table. Zaara rises to make the introduction.

 

“Mr. Lensherr, this is Steve Rogers,” she says politely. “Steve, please sit down.” She offers him her own seat.

 

He obliges, shaking the man’s hand. Cold, steely blue eyes meet his own. “Captain America. How charming to meet you—again.”

 

Steve is startled, but releases his hand and sits down. Zaara calmly seats herself in his lap, the warmth  of her body soothing him slightly. The look in the man’s eyes scares him deeply. He’s seen that expression before—the frosty blue gaze has a coldness that hints at a violence Steve would rather not imagine. Three times in his life has he met men with that look in their eyes: _Helmut Zemo. Loki. The Red Skull. They looked like that._ Every instinct warns him to watch his step. His gut clenches and he fears for civilians in their vicinity. _Civilians. Collateral damage. None of that matters to a man like this._ Before he can stop himself, he glances around with worry. Children shout and play, mothers chase them to and fro, people laugh. Everyone seems relaxed and content on a sunny day. Yet the old man remains still, sitting there with a sinister aura, as if it is all very amusing to him.

 

After a moment, Steve finds his voice. “ _Again_?”

 

“You don’t remember me,” the man named Lensherr purrs smoothly. “I should not expect you to. It was a long time ago.”

 

“Long ago,” Steve murmurs back, arm squeezing Zaara’s waist tight. A light suddenly pops in his head. “During the war.”

 

“Yes,” Lensherr nods. “The war. When I was a boy. You freed me from my bonds. Don’t worry, Captain—you did the right thing. I’ve enjoyed my freedom, more or less, ever since.”

 

Steve never heard anything so ominous.

 

Zaara squeezes his arm. “There’s a couple more of us waiting on the Blackbird. You’ll see some familiar faces, no doubt. Our journey will be short and your contribution will be minimal.”

 

“I still don’t see what’s in it for me,” Lensherr huffs slightly gazing perfunctorily at her. Steve seems far more interesting to him and his gaze swiftly moves back to him. “My, my, Captain,” he muses. “You don’t look a day older.”

 

“Like I said,” Zaara sounds impatient. “You’ll have a chance to right some wrongs. It might make you feel a bit better about yourself.”

 

“How would you know how I feel about myself?” Lensherr retorts, casting an accusatory glance at her. “You promised never to read me.”

 

“I haven’t read you,” she frowns, trying to control her impatience. Steve squeezes her reassuringly. He knows Zaara would keep all these people safe, despite Lensherr’s veiled threat. “But I can’t imagine you feel happy about the way you left things at the school—that’s all. I’m asking you to _trust me_. I’m trying to do something good—something _healing_ —and if it turns out right, it would benefit all of us. You’d get something out of it, too.”

 

“Trust _you_?” he raises his eyebrows, disconcerted. “After all that you’ve done to me, Miss Xaviar?”

 

She sighs and looks up at Steve. “It hasn’t been all that bad. Has it? You’re not in jail.”

 

“No,” he agrees. “I’m not.”

 

“And your powers have returned,” she points out, a bit unhappily.

 

“They have,” he smirks. It makes Steve fear for her.

 

“You’ve lived a long life, old man,” Zaara chooses her words carefully. “Don’t you want your golden years to be peaceful ones? Don’t you want to leave something _good_ behind you?”

 

He frowns.

 

“Besides,” she adds, defeated. “There is the matter of your daughter.”

 

“My daughter?” he repeats with an even bigger frown. “Lorna is in Seattle. With those other students of yours.”

                                        

“Not Lorna,” Zaara stares at him deliberately. “ _Wanda_.”

 

“Wanda?” Steve gasps.

 

“Wanda Maximoff is your daughter,” Zaara announces softly. For once, Erik Lensherr is speechless. “She doesn’t know,” Zaara continues. “To tell you the truth, I thought about never telling either of you. Ever. But I didn’t think it was right. Plus, if this is what it takes to get your help, then maybe it's time for the truth to come out.”

 

“How . . . How do you know?” the man called Magneto gasps.

 

Steve grips her waist so tightly it starts to hurt. With his Asgardian strength, he could easily crack a rib and she has to apply some telekinetic force to loosen his grip. “Sorry about that,” he whispers. She strokes his arm lovingly.

 

“It’s okay,” she touches her nose to his cheek before she returns her gaze to Magneto. “Mr. Lensherr, we’ll tell Wanda the truth when you arrive. You can build a relationship with her, if you want it and if she is willing. She can also tell you about her twin brother, your son. His name was Pietro. He died in Sokovia.”

 

“How do you know?” the old man asks in disbelief, as if he did not hear her.

 

“Magda,” Zaara closes her eyes, hating to reveal it. “She hid them from you. She . . . didn’t want you to . . .”

 

“She . . . didn’t want . . . me,” he murmurs to himself, defeated.

 

“No,” Zaara agrees. “She didn’t.”

 

Steve glances back and forth at the two of them, shocked by the admission. _This is heavy stuff. No wonder Zaara said it was personal. No wonder she kept her mouth shut. Wish she had told me about Wanda._

 

“Well,” Zaara finally speaks, allowing the old man his grief. “I think Wanda will be open to it. She’ll be angry with me for not telling her sooner and for not giving her a heads-up. I’ll have to find a way to explain. Maybe Steve can help,” she turns to him plaintively.

 

“Why didn’t you tell her?” Steve asks.

 

“I’ve been a little distracted,” she confesses, shame-faced. But he knows it’s the truth.

_Ever since we got home, she’s had her hands full with Bucky and I. All our legal problems, Tony Stark, Rhodie, Gravitron, those Galaxy Guardians, and Asgard. Now she’s on this crazy mission. Still, she should have warned Wanda before we came to get Lensherr. Maybe she didn’t plan on telling him at all? Maybe that’s it._

 

“I’ll do my best,” Steve declares in his Captain America voice. “Wanda will understand . . . eventually.”

 

“She will,” Zaara agrees. “But she’ll have trouble coming to terms with having Magneto as her father.”

 

“Magneto?” Steve repeats, shocked.

 

Lensherr cackles, glad to have something to hold over him. “She didn’t tell you who I am, Captain? Are you lovebirds having trouble in paradise?”

 

“Don’t listen to him, Steve,” Zaara soothes. “I told you there are bad mutants out there. Mr. Lensherr is one of the originals.”

 

“ _Bad_ mutants?” Lensherr repeats, incredulous, as if the term underwhelms him.

 

“Let’s not go there right now,” Zaara brushes it off. “We should head home. It’s getting late. Do you want to pack a bag, or would you prefer to come as is? The choice is yours. We can provide everything you need when we get to the school, Mr. Lensherr."

 

“No doubt,” Lensherr murmurs. “Imagine, the two of you . . . Still together after all these years."

 

His words startle her, but she says nothing. Steve stares hard at him, jolted. He clears his throat.“What do you mean by ‘all these years’?”

 

Lensherr chuckles, delighted to have something else to hold over them.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

With Erik Lensherr strapped into a seat on the Blackbird, Zaara and Steve retreat to the medical bay. “You sure about this, darling?” Steve asks, holding her in his lap. He takes the opportunity to stroke her still-flat belly reverently. Though she knows he means to caress the baby ( _our baby?_ she wonders), it only manages to stoke her desire for him.

 

“No,” she replies honestly. “But Magneto should behave himself. He can’t take on all of us at once, not by himself. Not when we’re all together. He has no team anymore.”

 

“He had a team?” Steve asks in disbelief, his hand freezing.

 

“Yeah,” she admits, crestfallen. “Called it the Brotherhood of Mutants. _We_ called it the Brotherhood of _Evil_ Mutants.”

 

“Explain to me again how the Avengers never heard of any of you before?” he asks numbly, even as the weight of her ass upon his thighs leads him to ponder more sensual matters. It’s difficult to rein himself in at the prospect of beginning a new life with Zaara when they return home. There are practical matters to consider; how the children will make the adjustment, Bucky’s new sleeping arrangements. There’s no reason to hide their love from the rest of the mansion’s inhabitants, though he’ll have to prepare himself for some harmless ribbing from Sam. But the presence of Erik Lensherr, not to mention the ugly truth that will be faced by Wanda Maximoff, also gives him pause.

 

“The Professor and I,” she explains patiently. “We used our powers to wipe Erik’s actions from people’s minds—each and every time he made trouble. Cerebro helped,” she admits.

 

“Alright,” Steve begrudgingly lets it go. But he’s glad he did because now he can indulge in kissing Zaara’s glossy brown hair. “Mmm,” he murmurs, relishing its silky texture against his lips. _Still smells so good._

 

“Captain,” she chastises. “Control yourself.”

 

“I’m trying,” he pleads in a husky voice.

 

“Really,” she sighs. “Bucky’s flying the plane, Logan wants to rip out Magneto’s throat with his claws and Magneto wants to make him shove his claws down his own throat at the same time. I really ought to be watching over them, you know.”

 

“I know,” he admits. “Just wish you’d tell me where we go from here with Lensherr. Especially now that you’re my girl and we’re having a baby. You should trust me as much as you trust Storm.”

 

That gives her pause. “I guess I should,” she finally concedes. “But, then I’d have to trust Bucky with it, too. So, trust me when I tell you this is an X-man issue and has nothing to do with our relationship.”

 

“Our relationship,” he repeats the words as if they bring him immense satisfaction.

 

Because they do.

 

 

 

 

 


	22. What a Swell Party This Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wintry day--the perfect time to post since I am snowed in. 
> 
> Some important stuff happens in this chapter. Writing Deadpool was a new experience for me, but I loved it. Crossing my fingers that you'll like it! With any luck, I have done him justice.
> 
> Things move forward, I promise. Progress is slow, but it is happening. I'm only able to post about once a month since these chapters have become very loooong. I've also been distracted by other work and all the things that get in the way of writing. I hope the wait has been worth it.
> 
> Happy spring!

 

 

_I have heard that among this clan_

_You are called the forgotten man._

_Is that what they’re saying?_

_Well did you evah?_

_What a swell party this is._

_Have you heard the story of_

_A boy, a girl, unrequited love?_

_Sounds like a pure soap opera, tune in tomorrow_

_I may cry_

_What a swell party this is._

_Have you heard about dear Blanche?_

_Got run down by an avalanche._

_No!_

_Oh, don’t worry, she’s a game girl you know_

_Got up and finished 4 th_

_The kid’s got guts._

_Havin’ a nice time?_

_Grab a line._

 

_Have you heard? It’s in the stars_

_Next July we collide with Mars._

_Well did you evah? What a swell party,_

_A swell party_

_An swellegant, elegant party this is._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When they finally arrive home, Zaara succumbs to the bone-weariness of early pregnancy. Steve takes extra care to assist her as they disembark from the Blackbird. She valiantly attempts not to resent him for it and indeed, comes to appreciate the sweetness of it. His thoughts are so closely attuned to her needs it gives her an inkling of how precious she is to him. It's a lot to get used to. He treats her like royalty and must struggle to conceal the hints of a smile that would stretch from ear to ear if he let it for the man is beside himself with joy. She can’t be sure whether it is over the baby or over the long-awaited consummation of their passion. Perhaps it is both.

 

Bucky’s mindwaves beam a new tenderness to her as well; love so fierce it can barely conceal how his jealousy is quelled only by his concern for her and the baby. However, the former Winter Soldier is also burdened with heavy apprehension over the two guests who accompany them home. Zaara has to agree. _It’s a real handful to have a mission and a pregnancy, all at the same time. And, Steve, too._ Indeed, her newfound intimacy with the Captain divides her attentions and bewilders her. She cannot allow herself to dream about what life will be like nine months from now. To share a new life with Steve, Bucky, the children, and a new baby is unimaginable at the moment and she’ll just have to tolerate that.

 

Moreover, it is incumbent upon her to give Storm the news right away because she couldn’t manage to say it over the phone. In a private meeting that happens immediately upon their arrival, she delivers the news with trepidation. Storm, however, is elated since the state of pregnancy gives Zaara an extra power boost. “You’re going to need it on this mission,” the weather working mutant informs her with raised eyebrows. “But a new baby is wonderful, too. You know we’re here for you, Zaara. We’ve done it all before and we can do it again.” Zaara is humbled by her dear friend’s offer of support. But when it comes to the mission, she must agree that what they will attempt goes beyond the beyond, even for a class five mutant. She’s going to need all the help she can get. _And once this mission is over, I’m going to need my girlfriends to help me sort through this mess I’ve made,_ she tells herself.

 

While Zaara meets with Storm, Steve takes charge of Mr. Lensherr, not wanting to burden anyone with the villainous old man. He leads him off to one of the quieter wings of the mansion and delivers him to a private room. It takes a while to settle the sinister gentleman in and Steve stoically endures his subtle and rather ominous ribbing before he can head to Wanda’s suite to give her the unexpected news about her biological father.

 

“So kind of you to assist an old man, Captain,” Magneto pronounces with a hint of a sneer while they make their way through the corridors.

 

“With all due respect, Mr. Lensherr,” Steve begs to differ. “I’m probably older than you.”

 

“Indeed,” the metal manipulating mutant agrees. “Though neither of you have aged a day.”

 

Assuming the man refers to Bucky, Steve regards him carefully. “We were both on ice for many years. I guess it kept us pretty well preserved.”

 

“Were you?” Magneto asks skeptically, his words sounding a mockery.

 

Steve pauses a moment. “Can you tell me,” he clears his throat. “Just where we met during the war? I have a pretty good memory. I’m surprised I don’t remember you.”

 

“As I said, I was boy,” Magneto frowns. “Captured and imprisoned by a Nazi officer. Sebastian Shaw was his name, in Dusseldorf. You liberated me from his fortress.”

 

“Did I?” Steve asks with some skepticism of his own. _I have no memory of that whatsoever._

 

“If you don’t believe me,” Magento smiles again, his sharp mind combing through all the possibilities. “Ask _her._ ”

 

Steve has no doubt he refers to Zaara, but rather than draw her in deeper, he stops asking questions. He’d prefer Lensherr not think about Zaara at all. Indeed, the hairs on the back of his neck bristle, recalling how Magneto stared her down in San Francisco. When Lensherr is finally settled in his room, Steve heads off to give Wanda the surprise of her life.

 

In the meantime, Bucky and Logan make their way to the suite quietly and cautiously so as to avoid any surprise meetings with the boisterous student body, allowing the Wolverine time to acclimate to his new environment. It will be quite a change for him. He has slept outdoors for the past two years and now he will be in a mansion surrounded by people. Bucky can certainly sympathize. Zaara insists the two of them share the guest room cowboy-style, for Steve made it clear on the jet that he’ll be bunking with Zaara from now on. However, he also made a point of squeezing his best friend’s shoulder for reassurance. “We'll always be here for you. Whenever you need us, Buck,” he had whispered, eyes locked on his best friend. “’Til the end of the line.”

 

The thought of it makes Bucky ache , but he busies himself by insisting Logan take a shower as soon as they enter the suite. However, the children have other plans and  immediately launch themselves at the Wolverine and the Winter Soldier. Rogue is forced to hold back tears at the sight of her old friend. Bucky, however, has other plans. Briefly abandoning Uncle Logan to their childish antics, he slips up into the attic and fetches a stack of Zaara’s old pregnancy books. He noticed them there once, though she never spoke a word of them. He knows she hasn’t touched them since Henry was born and indeed had hoped never to see them again. Not worrying about what anyone else will say, he sets them in a pile by the bedside and peruses them carefully while Logan fends off the children’s affections. Fascinating titles such as _The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding_ , _Belly Laughs,_ and _Spiritual Midwifery_ mystify him. They are not like any books he has ever read in his life. Anticipating that Steve will feel the same way he does—a curious cross between enthralled, intimidated, elated, and in way over his head, he finds himself skimming through birth stories. But soon, he can hear Logan splashing away in the shower and, before he can steal five more minutes to himself, Ellie leaps on top of him and demands to see Steve and Zaara.

 

“It’s alright, kitten,” he coos, reluctantly putting the book down. “They’ll be here in a jiffy. Say, where’s your brother?” Rogue has left the suite, Logan is in the shower, and he can’t sense the little boy anywhere. Suddenly, his supersoldier ears catch the thumping of little feet over his head. “Oh, sh . . .!” he nearly curses and leaps up, almost flinging Ellie off the bed. “Umph, sorry, kitten! Your brother’s in the attic.”

 

“He likes to play up there,” she frowns, hating to lose Bucky’s attention even for an instant. “When Mama leaves it open, he always goes right up. She doesn’t like it when he does that.”

 

Bucky fastidiously retrieves a rambunctious Henry who has mischievously hidden in one of the storage chests. By the time he coaxes the little rascal back downstairs, Steve has returned. There is a glow to his face for, despite his tense interactions with Magneto, he knows he’s finally come home. _Home, to my family,_ he tells himself. With a smile as bright as the sun, he whisks both Ellie and Henry into his arms and smothers them in an enormous bear hug, kissing one after the other. It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell them they’re going to have a baby brother or sister, but Ellie has already figured it out.

 

“Mama’s having a baby, isn’t she?” the girl asks softly while her brother tickles Steve’s face.

 

Steve blushes and absentmindedly pushes Henry’s relentless hand away. “How do you know, sweetheart?”

 

“I read your mind,” she replies solemnly.

 

Bucky gives him a startled glance. _Amazing. How’d she do that? Zaara can’t even read Steve._

 

“Just like your mom,” Steve murmurs.

 

“Baby?” Henry squeaks, though he seems more intent upon tickling Steve. “I want a boy.”

 

“Well, I want a girl. Is it a girl?” Ellie pouts. But a session of cuddling and roughhousing quickly takes over, leaving the question unanswered. When Logan comes out of the shower, he joins in the fray. With three large, accommodating men to entertain them, the children are beside themselves with joy. When Zaara returns, Ellie launches herself into her arms so fiercely Steve winces.

 

“Careful there, kitten,” Bucky calls, knowing that had to have hurt. “Your mother’s in a delicate condition.”

 

Zaara snorts. “Not _that_ delicate, Hunka-hunka. Just tired.”

 

But Steve cannot suppress his curiosity. “What happened at the meeting?”

 

“We’ll talk about it later,” she puts him off, too busy hugging Ellie and kissing Henry. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

 

The five of them opt for dinner in the suite since Sam and Wanda were kind enough to keep the kitchen well-stocked. Bucky offers to make his famous spaghetti. Logan, however, has been summoned elsewhere and heads downstairs for a meeting with Storm. He will eat in the dining hall tonight with the rest of the school and play catch-up, but he will return to the suite to spend the night. During a quiet moment at the table, Zaara turns to Steve. “How’d it go with Wanda?” she asks, hoping the children will give him a chance to answer.

 

“As well as could be expected, I guess,” he shrugs. “She’s waiting to hear from you, though. Has a lot of questions about why you didn’t tell her sooner. Mr. Lensherr will be taking his meals in his room, but that doesn’t mean they won’t run into each other.”

 

“Storm told me she was going to talk to her,” Zaara muses, glancing at Bucky. “But I can stop by tonight, before bed—if the children can spare me for a few minutes.”

 

“No,” Ellie scowls. “You go away too much, Mama.”

 

“Well, why don’t you come with me?” she smiles, pulling Ellie closer for another hug. “You’re getting old enough. You can thank Wanda for taking such good care of you. Henry can stay with Steve and Bucky and have a boys’ night. Does that sound good, Henry?”

 

“Legos!” Henry waves his fists in the air, the prospect of having Steve and Bucky all to himself a dream come true.

 

“Swell, buddy,” Steve wraps an arm around his little shoulders. “We can play legos all night if you like—as long as you keep them out of your mouth.” And with that, Henry plops himself in Steve’s lap and and eats off his plate. Zaara sighs, but Steve doesn’t mind at all. Not to be outdone, Ellie seats herself in Bucky’s lap and does the very same thing.

 

“Don’t take all their food, kids,” Zaara warns. “Supersoldiers need lots of calories.”

 

“What about desert?” Ellie whines.

 

“Cupcakes!” Henry shouts.

 

“Are you guys up for it?” Zaara asks, giving a yawn. “I don’t think I have it in me to clean up a mess tonight.”

 

“We’re always up for cupcakes, sweetheart,” Steve assures her with a loving glance. He still can’t believe he’s here, can’t believe all that has happened. _Zaara’s mine, now. We’re having a baby. I’ve come home. It’s everything I could ever want._

 

“CUPCAKES!” the children scream.

 

Before Zaara can say another word, Bucky chimes in. “Don’t worry, doll. We’ve got three different mixes on the top shelf. Saw to it myself. Lemon, chocolate, and strawberry. You kids pick whatever you like.”

 

In the end, the children settle on all three. Henry mixes the flavours together in his bowl though Ellie is careful to keep hers separate and tidy. It makes Zaara groan, but she cannot chastise the men for indulging them. The children have missed them terribly and they deserve it. While they bake, Zaara reclines on the couch, feeling like the laziest mother on earth. It is something to have two tireless men looking after her children, entertaining them and even teaching them how to bake. Once or twice she must suppress the urge to interfere. She even uses telekinesis to prevent a bag of flour from exploding all over the floor. Bucky yells out a thank you and Steve takes the time to check on her, concerned that she is tiring herself out.

 

“Really, Steve,” she giggles. “I’m highly experienced at averting culinary disaster. Believe me, it takes less effort than sweeping a mountain of flour off the floor.”

 

“Alright,” he kneels down, bits of powdered sugar on his nose and cheeks, and gives her a tender kiss. “I love you so much,” he murmurs, stroking her hair.

 

Smiling back at him dreamily, she giggles again, licks the tip of his nose, and shakes her head. “You’d better get back there. Bucky needs you.”

 

“Truer words were never spoken.” He glances worriedly back at the kitchen, wondering how in the hell Zaara managed as a single parent. Honestly, he can barely handle two children at the same time, even with Bucky’s help. He hurries to the kitchen though part of him wishes he could stay by Zaara’s side. A longing to sketch the way she reclines so languorously on the couch consumes him, and he wonders whether he dare ask her permission later. He will get another chance later in the evening—when they are alone. _A man can dream, can’t he?_

 

Zaara’s eyelids start to close with weariness and she realizes she’d better visit Wanda before she falls asleep. She owes it to her, with Magneto in the house. By now, the cupcakes are in the oven and Ellie is ready to accompany her. The child is confused about how Wanda can have a father she never knew of. “Ellie,” Zaara squeezes her hand as they make their way to the former Avenger’s room. “This happens to lots of people. Mixed families are all over the place. It could even happen to you.”

 

“To me?” Ellie squeaks in surprise, her young mind taken aback. “Do I have a father I don’t know about, too?”

 

“Well, maybe,” Zaara admits reluctantly “We’re not completely sure. You know the story of how you were born.” She has always endeavored to be honest with her children, even though it can be quite painful for her. And she’s not ready to talk about her new relationship with Steve—not yet. He told her he wants to adopt Ellie and Henry, but she’s not ready to take that step.

 

“Then I want Bucky to be my daddy,” Ellie says with determination. “I don’t want anyone else.”

 

“Bucky?” Zaara stops in amazement and scans her daughter’s mind. Apart from ordinary mother’s intuition, she’s never really been able to read her children’s minds but she has always had a sense that Ellie will likely turn out to be a telepath just like her. It became even more apparent after Freia’s garden. The child may well become a Freia maiden herself one day, though she is still very young. And there is a strangeness there, an unusual vibration flowing through her mindwaves. The love Ellie bears for Bucky is unlike anything Zaara has ever known. Though Ellie has attached herself to several men in her life, not only Bucky but Steve but even Logan, Peter, and Bobby, Bucky holds a very special place in her heart. Zaara shrugs it off as childish fancy.

 

When they come to Wanda’s room, the Scarlet Witch waits for them by the door. She ushers them inside and closes it tightly behind them. _Why?_

 

 _I thought Storm would explain._ Zaara’s heart fills with compassion.

 

 _He’s dangerous,_ Wanda narrows her eyes.

 

_Yes._

 

 _Would he hurt me?_ Ellie asks, wide-eyed.

 

 _Ellie!_ Zaara is shocked to see the child using telepathy. _How are you talking to us?_

_I don’t know, Mama,_ she replies.

 

“Little one,” Wanda gets down on her knee. Ellie runs to her and wraps her arms around her neck. “I missed you.”

 

“Me, too, Wanda,” Ellie giggles. “But I’m sorry about your new Papa.”

 

“Storm would like you to meet him after the mission,” Zaara sighs. “If that’s alright with you. She’s assigned you to school duty, if you don’t mind. This mission’s not a level seven so she’d prefer to keep you at home with me away.”

 

“Who else is going?” Wanda asks.

 

“Steve. Bucky. Storm and Logan. Me. That’s about all,” Zaara admits.

 

“Sam wants to go,” Wanda offers.

 

“Maybe,” Zaara muses. “I don’t think Storm would mind. But we need the heavy hitters to stay with the children.”

 

“Except for Erik Lensherr,” Wanda adds darkly.

 

“Wanda,” Zaara speaks gently. “Your parents _were_ your parents. Erik Lensherr is a very damaged man. It would be . . . an extraordinary kindness for you to allow him into your life after everything he’s done—after the way he treated your mother. I know you have it in you. I just . . . I don’t want you to get hurt. Maybe you could tell him about Pietro. I suppose he ought to know about him.”

 

“Maybe,” Wanda reluctantly agrees. “I will think about it.”

 

“Good,” Zaara smiles kindly. “At least he won’t be able to get away with lying to us.”

 

“Probably not,” the former Avenger laughs lightly while Ellie strokes her long, red hair. “I wish I could help you with what’s coming.”

 

“So do I,” Zaara scratches her chin thoughtfully. “But I don’t see how. I’ve never tried this sort of thing before. It’s not about sheer force. Your power is great, but it’s also . . . raw. Most of it came from that stone and this job is well, rather subtle. I guess Storm couldn’t keep it from you, could she?”

 

Wanda shakes her head sheepishly.

 

“I know I can trust you, Wanda,” Zaara says softly. “Thank you.”

 

“Thank you—for telling me the truth,” she replies. “And, for this little one.” Ellie snuggles closer into her. “But, what about the baby?”

 

“The baby,” Zaara shakes her head, still in shock about her pregnancy. “My surprise baby.”

 

“I’m so excited,” Wanda confesses, blushing. “The Avengers could use some good news these days. Of course, it has to be Steve’s. He looked so happy when I saw him this afternoon.”

 

“Steve’s?” Ellie seems quizzical.

 

Zaara laughs. “Maybe _you_ can figure it out because I sure as hell can’t. It’s like immaculate conception all over again.”

 

“Imma-what?” Ellie asks innocently.

 

“Like the way you came into the world,” Zaara murmurs, kissing the top of her head.

 

“Mama, you already told me how babies are made,” Ellie frowns.

 

“But you and your brother were different—just like everyone at this school is different,” she explains.

 

“Zaara, will you let me read Steve? Will you let me try and find out for you?” Wanda asks gingerly.

 

“Well,” Zaara appears flummoxed. “I guess so. Go ahead—if he’ll let you. But could it wait ‘til after the mission?”

 

“Not another mission,” Ellie groans.

 

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” Zaara nuzzles her tenderly. “We’re staying close to home this time. We’re only going up-state, not far from here at all. We should make it home by bedtime. You can probably spend the day with Wanda again, if you like, if it’s alright with you, Wanda.”

 

“It’s fine by me,” Wanda gently pinches Ellie’s cheeks. “I have a lot to think about.”

 

“About your new daddy?” Ellie asks.

 

“Yes, my love. I’m going to need lots of hugs.” Taking her cue, Ellie squeezes her even tighter.

 

“Thanks for not holding this against me, Wanda,” Zaara says humbly. “We weren’t sure when to tell you, but Storm figured the time was right. I hope you understand.”

 

“I do,” she nods. “I know all your feelings. You care very much about everyone in this school.”

 

“Then you know we’d like you to join the X-men,” Zaara smiles. “If you can bring yourself to leave the Avengers.”

 

“After I lost everything, the Avengers gave me a home. And a family,” Wanda glances down at the floor. “I need to find out if they will still be there for me.”

 

“Yes,” Zaara agrees. Wanda’s loyalty has always been with Steve. Clint, as well—and there’s that special something she shares with Vision, even now. Zaara, of all people, has no trouble recognizing it.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Wrestling with Henry all evening long, Steve and Bucky breathe a sigh of relief when Logan finally returns, but it is to no avail for the brawling only intensifies. Furniture gets overturned, toys are scattered, and the four of them are red in the face, huffing and puffing by the time Zaara and Ellie walk through the door. Without a moment’s hesitation, Ellie throws herself into the fray, but Steve and Bucky restrain themselves out of concern for Zaara’s safety. Indeed, Bucky is about to escort her to her room when he notices that Steve has already taken the initiative. The former Winter Soldier stops himself short, regret in his heart. But Ellie throws herself at him yet again and the wild rumpus starts anew.

 

His arm curled around her waist, Steve ushers Zaara into her room. _Our room now?_ He wonders.

 

“Yes,” she closes the door and wraps her arms around him. It is another random reading from him, and she likes it. “This is _our_ room now—if you want it to be. You can even move your stuff in here.” It makes her nervous, this admission, but when Steve makes up his mind, there’s no going back. _He’s committed; there's no doubt about it. And I can’t have him sneaking in here all hours of the night, anyways. We’ll have to be honest with the children sooner or later._

 

“I’ll do that,” he gives a genuine smile, but all too soon his mouth is busy kissing hers. Heat simmers between them, igniting so quickly it takes her by surprise and she is forced to put it to a halt lest they start something they cannot stop. The children are up and about and Steve knows it, too. He clears his throat to pose a question, cheeks burning with arousal, pupils dilating. “Will Bucky be alright . . . with us?”

 

“I think so,” she replies whimsically, wiping flecks of her saliva off the corner of his mouth. _God, he’s got such sensual lips. I could kiss them all day._ “It’s hard for him. A big change. I’ll check on him after we put the kids to bed. I think he’s actually _glad_ to have Logan stay with him.”

 

“Why’s that?” Steve asks, puzzled. “He didn’t seem too thrilled about looking after him when we were in the hotel.”

 

“I think Bucky was having issues about . . . us,” she clarifies, their bodies rocking slowly body back and forth, so happy to be together again. _It would be so easy to give in and make love to him right here, right now._ “Logan is a good distraction for him. Bucky won’t be alone. There’s something powerful about having a friend who’s gone through the same thing as you, more or less. But . . .” Zaara furrows her brow, curious.

 

“What?” Steve asks, prodding her.

 

She bites her lip. “Bucky went up to the attic while you were with Erik Lensherr and brought down my pregnancy books.”

 

“ _Pregnancy_ books?” Steve flounders, the idea of the baby still so new to him. _I’ve had a lot on my mind lately,_ he reminds himself. The excitement of this new intimacy with Zaara can, at times, eclipse everything else—including the baby.

 

She laughs. “I guess it’s not like anything you’ve ever read before, huh, Captain Bossypants?”

 

“No,” he admits, laughing right along with her. “You’re right. Captain Bossypants has never read a pregnancy book. So you have a whole library up there, do you?”

 

“I sure do,” she smiles. “Or, did. Bucky brought them downstairs and has them by his bed. I’ve read them before, so they’re all yours. Enjoy.”

 

“I will,” Steve grins fully now. “I want to know everything.” He means it and stares at her so earnestly, blue eyes clear and sparkling, that she has to still the butterflies in her stomach.

 

“Oh, I’m not so sure about that,” she chuckles ruefully. “You’ll see for yourself.”

 

“I can’t wait,” he confesses, the puppydog look in his eyes driving her to distraction.

 

“Stop it,” she turns away, the expression on her face approaching a frown.

 

He hates to see her look like that, almost as if she’s sad. “Stop what? Sweetheart?” He takes her chin and very gently turns her to face him again. She won’t speak, but he won’t give up. “What is it? Please, tell me.”

 

“Stop being like that,” she finally murmurs.

 

“Like what?” he asks innocently, those same blue eyes boring into hers, desperate to appease her.

 

“Stop being _so sweet,_ ” she groans. “I know you want the baby to be yours, Steve, but I have no way of knowing if it is. Not until later . . . if you want to do a DNA test.”

 

“I don’t care about that,” he shakes his head, a determined look in his eye. “That’s not what matters, darling. I just . . . I can _feel_ it. I _know_ it’s mine. This baby _will_ be mine. _That’s_ what matters.” Once again, he suppresses his smile, sensitive to the profoundly different way she is experiencing this pregnancy and their new relationship.

 

She laughs lightly and tries not to cry. He kisses her again, toning down his passion, tenderly stroking her hair, her back, embracing her with all his warmth, showing her how deeply she is loved.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

After the children go to sleep, Logan becomes even grouchier than usual. “Don’t know why I gotta share a bed with this jerk,” he snorts, jutting his chin in Bucky’s direction. “Made me take _another_ shower. Second one in two days. All that soap, ugh. Skin’s so itchy.”

 

“Imagine that,” Bucky raises his eyebrows in amusement. “Bein’ _clean._ ” After a moment, he adds a thought. “I don’t think Zaara wants you to be alone, Howlett. ‘Fraid you’re stuck with me.”

 

“That’s right. I don’t,” Zaara says smoothly, neatly turning out the duvet on the queen size bed. Glancing back and forth between the bed and the two men who stand on either side of it, she raises her eyebrows at the lethal odd couple. “Who’d ever thought the Wolverine and the Winter Soldier would end up as roommates?”

 

“Misery makes strange bedfellows,” Logan pulls out a stogie and chews it thoughtfully.

 

“Shakespeare? Never knew you had it in you, Logan,” she laughs as she starts to fluff their pillows.

 

“Doll—don’t do that. You need rest,” Bucky protests, hating to see her do housework. “The first ten weeks of pregnancy are the hardest. Your placenta—”

 

“ _My placenta?”_ she snorts, fluffing defiantly away. “I don’t have a placenta yet! What are you talking about?”

 

“That’s why you’re so tired,” Bucky admonishes, and moves to grasp her by the elbows, holding her still. He lowers his voice. “It won’t be ready until you reach twelve weeks. You’ve _gotta_ rest.”

 

Logan stares at them and shakes his head. Steve, entering the room, immediately spots the exasperation on Zaara’s face. He covers his mouth with his fist.

 

“Look, Hunka-hunka burnin’ love . . .” she begins shakily, but her expression suddenly lightens and her voice becomes a cackle. “You are being _so_ sweet. _Thank you._ ”

 

“It’s nothin’ doll,” he replies quietly, his old-fashioned sincerity never ceasing to amaze her. She turns around and hugs him tight, muffling a sound that is somewhere between laughter and tears.

 

“Are those the books over there?” Steve gestures at the bedside table, valiantly ignoring their embrace. He doesn’t wait for an answer but moves to peruse them.

 

“Yup,” Bucky replies in a rather defensive tone.

 

“What books?” Logan snorts.

 

“My pregnancy books,” Zaara grins and releases Bucky, putting her hands on her hips and sensing something in the air. “What is this, boys? A contest or something?”

 

Steve attempts to conceal the competitive look in his eye, but it is all in vain. Bucky shamelessly grabs several of the books from the top of the pile and tucks two more under his metal arm, keeping them from Steve.

 

“Aw, come on, boys!” Logan grouches. “Ain’t no book can teach you how to have a baby. I saw the little girl get born. Ain’t no class can teach you what she did.”

 

“You . . . saw?” Steve asks, jaw agape. Bucky shares the same shocked expression and Zaara quickly senses what it means: _jealousy._

 

“Hoo, boy,” she sighs. “You three have lots to talk about. I’m going to bed. Sleep tight.” She heads out of the room but has second thoughts and pauses in the doorway. “Don’t worry, Logan. I’ve got those bad dreams. No nightmares for you tonight.”

 

“Much obliged, toots,” the Wolverine replies bluntly. Humbly.

 

When she is gone, Steve strides boldly back to the bedside table and grabs another book.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

When he returns to the master bedroom, he has two books tucked under his arm and another in his hand. He gives her a shy smile. She’s lying in bed, the covers pulled up over her knees. “So—what did you select?” she asks, a twinkle in her eye.

 

“Uh, _Spiritual Midwifery._ It has, uh, lots of birth stories,” he stammers, reddening.

 

“Birth stories?” Zaara smiles broadly. “That’s a good place to start, actually.”

 

“Is it?” he asks. “I wouldn’t know.”

 

“It’ll help you get used to the idea,” she shrugs. “Birth never turns out the way you expect it to.”

 

“Oh,” he replies. “Well, my Ma had some stories. She worked in the maternity ward for a while.”

 

“I’ll bet she had some stories,” Zaara chuckles enthusiastically. “I’d like to hear them.”

 

“I wish you could have met her,” he says with a yearning so wistful it tears at her. She wonders at the way she connects with him. _So deeply, so soon._ After all, she’s only been his girl for a couple of days.

 

“I can meet her—through you,” she opens her arms, inviting him to join her in bed. Acutely aware that Logan and Bucky are not yet asleep, he takes his place beside her and stretches his body out long against hers, his cheek resting heavily upon her breast. She wears the same old modest pajamas, as if nothing has changed between them. But he is acutely aware that things have changed.

 

“Mmmm . . .” he nestles in while she strokes his hair. “Maybe.” Listening to her heartbeat, the palm of his hand upon her belly, it is a while before he speaks again. “What about your folks, Zaara? You must have had a family. You never talk about them.”

 

“I did have a family,” she murmurs contemplatively, still stroking his dirty blond hair. She loves the way he keeps it long on top and shorn close at the bottom. The look is so flattering on him and the longer wisps feel like silk between her fingers. “We . . . fell out. It happened after I got pregnant with Ellie. We never got along very well, actually. They wouldn’t support me when I decided to become a dancer. I didn’t see them much when my career got started. But I have a sister and two nieces; none of them mutants, as far as I can tell.”

 

“Oh?” he asks, a pang in his heart. “And your parents?”

 

“They’re still alive,” she sighs. “And getting old. They’ve never met Ellie or Henry. I figure it’s safer that way.”

 

“Safer?” Steve asks, incredulous.

 

“Steve." She wills herself to be patient with him. “They never wanted me to dance. They thought I should sit in an office all day; that was their definition of success, not mine. And they were furious when I got pregnant with Ellie. I couldn’t explain it to them—I couldn’t even explain it to myself. They’re pretty religious and as far as they’re concerned, having a baby out of wedlock is the worst thing I could do. Public shame and all. So what makes you think they’d ever accept mutants? Besides,” she adds with chagrin. “It could endanger them, being close to us. We have lots of enemies, you know.”

 

“I know,” he agrees quietly.

 

“Good thing you’re an Avenger, then,” she smiles sadly.

 

“Guess so,” he gives a sad smile of his own.

 

“Charles Xaviar adopted me, by the way,” she adds. “When I came here, to the school. He gave me his name so my kids have his name, too. We started a new life here. I’ve never looked back.”

 

Studying her face carefully, he can tell she means every word. “Alright. I can see that’s that.”

 

“It is—for me,” she replies cautiously, sensing it’s definitely not the end of it for Steve.

 

“I’m going to the city—after we finish the mission,” he murmurs, stroking her breast so gently it makes her shiver.

 

“Oh,” she breathes, clutching him tighter. “For that bank thing Natasha called about?”

 

“Not just that,” he continues. “I . . . plan to go shopping for a ring.”

 

 _“A ring?”_ Zaara braces herself.

 

“You’re my girl,” he says resolutely. “And I want you to have a ring.”

 

_Not an engagement ring, Steve. Please. Not yet._

 

“It doesn’t have to be an engagement ring—not if you don’t want it to be,” he sits up and holds her gaze steadily, as if he can read her mind. “It can be a promise ring or whatever you want it to be. But this baby is ours and I want you to know I’m serious about our relationship and our family. I want you to wear my ring.”

 

“Okay,” she manages in a strained whisper.

 

“I want to adopt all of the kids—when you’re ready,” he’s careful to add, though he’s told her this before. “Because I’m not going anywhere. I know we’ve just begun, but I’m not fooling around. I want a ring on your finger so you know how serious I am about you. And the kids.”

 

She swallows. “I know you’re serious, Steve. I don’t need a ring to prove that—or anything else.”

 

He demurs. “But I do. So, when I go to the city, I’m buying a ring.”

 

She gives a nod to acknowledge it, and a lump forms in her throat. “Okay,” she whispers.

 

“Okay,” he grins confidently. After a while, he speaks again. “I suppose you can’t tell me about the rest of your mission now?” he asks, vowing to find out more about her family of origin someday. _I plan to marry her, after all. They have a right to know. I’m not hiding from anybody._

 

“Well, we head out tomorrow,” she admits with reluctance.

 

“Tomorrow?” He stares hard at her.

 

“We won’t go far,” she replies defensively. “Just a little suburb, an hour or so away.”

 

“Who’s going with you?” he demands nervously.

 

“You. Bucky, too. I hope,” she smiles.

 

Relief floods his heart. “Good. What’re we doing?”

 

“We’re going to a house. I need you and Bucky to guard the exterior. Storm’s letting us take Sooraya, Kitty, and Jubilee, too. Just in case,” she adds.

 

“And who’ll be inside?” he asks suspiciously.

 

“Me, Storm, Logan. And Erik Lensherr,” she explains cautiously. “We’ll be . . . working. Nothing dangerous, but it needs to be all four of us.”

 

“Oh.” Steve rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Will you be able to help us out if there’s trouble?”

 

“No,” She shakes her head. “Definitely not. We’ll be occupied. You’ll be on your own out there. But we don’t anticipate any trouble.”

 

“I’m not sure I like those numbers,” he demurs. “We need some heavy hitters if something big comes up, especially if you and Storm can’t help. Remember Gravitron?”

 

“We can’t,” she admits. “Storm has to sit tight with me—or it won’t work.”

 

“What won’t work?” he demands, then nods dejectedly. “Right. I’m not allowed to know.”

 

“Sorry, Bossypants,” she says flirtatiously, pulling him close again. “So—can we forget about it for now and hit the sack?”

 

But Steve won’t be dissuaded so easily—even if she smells incredible. _Safety first._ “I still don’t like those numbers,” he frowns. “We’re going in light. We could do with at least one more soldier. I know Jubilee has her energy blasts, but she’s so young, she’s not even a full-fledged X-man . . .”

 

“One more soldier?” Zaara squeaks, aghast. “Who do you think is going to attack? We’ll be in the middle of a suburb. Our mission is secret, no one knows about it. It doesn’t involve Hydra or the Hand or anyone else. Just us.”

 

“Still don’t like it,” he grouches, pulling away from her because her body is far too distracting. “I’ll talk to Storm about it. Tonight. Maybe she can spare someone else, maybe Bobby or Pete? Buck and I are the only brawlers. Jubilee’s got firepower, Sooraya and Kitty can surprise them, but we’ll be going in light.”

 

“There is no one else,” Zaara frowns. “Not after Stryker. Not for a mission that isn’t an emergency. Storm will want Bobby and Pete at home with Rogue and Blink to back them up. She wants Gambit to stay here, too, with the two of us gone.”

 

“Stryker?”

 

“There’s a lot that’s happened to us, Steve. Our children are targets and I’m sure you can guess why. We’ve had kidnappings, illegal experimentation . . .”

 

His face turns grim. “Kidnappings? Who was responsible?”

 

“The US Army,” she informs him bluntly, figuring it was time he knew.

 

Steve does a doubletake. _“What?!”_

 

“Ask your contacts at SHIELD,” she says smoothly. “Colonel William Stryker. The Weapon X Program. Abductions, illegal experimentation, torture. You can imagine we’re not very keen on having that happen again.”

 

“How can SHIELD have records if . . . if you and the Professor wiped mutants from people’s minds?” he demands.

 

“I only wipe away the _knowledge_ of mutants,” she explains. “Not the abductions—or anything else. As far as they know, Stryker kidnapped our kids for experimentation. He took nine of them, but he didn’t get all of them—thanks to Logan. He was the only one guarding them that night.”

 

“My God,” Steve whispers, loathe to imagine it. _Ellie. Henry._

 

“It’s alright, Ellie and Henry were okay,” she soothes, sensing his fear. “Ellie was just a baby when it happened. Henry wasn’t even born yet. They were never taken. But all the kids are my children— _all_ of them are under my protection. After Stryker, we were forced to tighten our security and limit interaction with the outside world. We guard our secrets, but there’s a high price to pay.”

 

He nods, thinking of something else. “What about Wanda?” he asks gingerly, already guessing the answer.

 

“With me gone?” Zaara shakes her head soberly. “Isn’t better to have Wanda protect the children instead of my sorry ass?”

 

With a great deal of bitterness, Steve has to admit she’s right. _But what about our baby?_ His hand strokes her belly protectively.

 

Sensing his worry, she pauses and places her hand atop his own. “Sam might be up for it,” she suggests carefully, stroking him while he pouts.

 

“Sam’s great in a fight, but he doesn’t have his wings,” Steve shakes his head. “Or any weapons. Unless you arm him . . .”

 

“We don’t keep guns here at the school. But Forge is making Sam new wings,” Zaara points out.

 

“Will it be ready by tomorrow?” Steve’s mind works overtime, calculating.

 

“No,” she admits sadly.

 

“The Avengers, then,” he murmurs to himself, biting his lip. “We should bring them in.”

 

“That’s a big step,” she counters. “And this mission is a private matter for the X-men.”

 

“Didn’t you say it’s time for us to meet?” he demands. “Tony, Rhodie, and Vision know about you—especially after Gravitron.”

 

“They don’t know everything. Not yet. Anything else is up to Storm. You’ll have to ask her,” Zaara slumps under the covers, defeated.

 

“I will.” Steve hops out of bed with a new energy, being the Captain once again. But he has second thoughts and spins around on his heel, practically leaping back to bed to plant a tender kiss upon her lips. “Wait up for me. Please? I’ll be back soon, I promise.” He kisses her again and strokes her breasts longingly before moving his hands down to her belly. “You, too,” he instructs the tiny life hidden there and kisses it tenderly.

 

Zaara sighs in frustration and watches him go.

 

It takes less than two minutes for him to reach the far wing of the mansion. Storm might have already retired for the night, but Steve figures Zaara will let her know he’s on his way. She waits for him by her door, wrapped in a blue bathrobe that reflects the phosphorescent glow in her eyes.

 

“Captain,” she nods formally, despite her state of undress.

 

“Ms. Munro,” he fumbles shyly for, despite all his weeks in the mansion, he’s had very little time alone with the leader of the X-men. Formality is his go-to and, wanting badly to become privy to the inner workings of the X-men, he resorts to it now despite their familiarity. “I’m sorry to disturb you so late, but I understand the X-men have a mission tomorrow.”

 

“It’s fine,” she grins at his awkwardness. “Besides, I wanted to thank you for bringing Logan back home.” _He really does act like the Captain around me, doesn’t he?_ Zaara has to agree.

 

“Uh, you’re welcome,” he replies. “Though I’m not sure about keeping Mr. Lensherr here, around all the children.”

 

“You don’t know the half of it,” she smirks. “Congratulations, by the way. Zaara told me your good news.”

 

“Thanks,” he blushes. He’s about to add that it was quite a surprise, but stops himself. Forcing his mind back on the mission, he becomes all business again. “I was, uh, concerned about tomorrow.”

 

“Yes?” Storm looks askance at him.

 

“Yes, well, you know I’m used to leading missions,” he blushes, flustered again by the sense that Zaara is listening in on their conversation, watching him through Storm’s eyes. “With the Avengers and all.”

 

“I have to admit,” the weather-working mutant grins. “I wasn’t surprised when Zaara warned me you were coming. Look, Steve—I understand it can be hard to step back when you’re used to taking a leadership role . . .”

 

“I don’t mean any disrespect, Storm,” he bursts out, anxious to placate her. “I just think we can do better. We’re going in light. Of course we’ve got to protect the children as best we can. But still—if you’d just let me call in Vision, or maybe Tony Stark . . .”

 

“It’s not necessary,” she demurs. “We’re not ready to open ourselves completely to the Avengers—not yet. There’s really no one else I can spare on a low risk mission like this, though I do appreciate you letting us keep Wanda here when Zaara’s gone.”

 

“Low risk?” It is Steve’s turn to look askance. “We’re bringing Erik Lensherr—the guy you call Magneto. Zaara told me all about him. He’s not low risk in my book. And he has powerful friends.”

 

“ _Had_ powerful friends—once. And he’ll be staying with me. And Zaara,” she replies stubbornly. “By our side at all times. Zaara says we can trust him—just for this mission. As for the people guarding the outside, there’s really no one else I can spare. You’ll have Bucky, Jubilee, Kitty, and Dust. They should be enough.”

 

“But what if they’re not? From what Zaara said, you’ll be mighty busy. The four of us will have to guard against any kind of threat—threats we can’t prepare for. We’re going in light. Please,” Steve is surprised to find himself begging. “There has to be someone else that can help. Anyone . . . Say,” he adds eagerly, an idea coming to him. “What about Dr. McCoy? He seemed pretty tough.”

 

Smiling fondly, Storm shakes her head. “I couldn’t ask it of him, Steve,” she speaks candidly. “Hank would do anything for us, but he has a demanding job and a new life apart from the X-men. He’s done so much for us as it is. I really can’t bother him about this—especially since we’ll be needing his help later on. But before you ask me anything more about the mission, I really can’t say. It’s a personal matter for the X-men. I’m sorry.”

 

Nodding silently, his eyes meet hers. The earnestness of his expression stings her and she chews on her lip, thinking.

 

 _Can’t you do something, Storm? Anything?_ He begs silently. If he could trust his own eyes, it would seem that Storm is cringing.

 

“Well,” she finally sighs, but not without great hesitation. “There might be _someone_ we could call on at a time like this. There’s a mutant nearby who doesn’t reside in the mansion. He’s not part of the X-men, though he’s worked with us before. We can trust him.”

 

“Is there?” he asks, hope rekindling in his eyes. “Someone who can fight, who can work as a team—like a soldier?”

 

“Well, I suppose so. More or less,” Storm still seems hesitant.

 

“Who is it?” he asks eagerly.

 

Storm suppresses a smile. “I gotta warn you, Steve: Zaara hates him. This is not going to be pretty.”

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

When he returns to their room, Zaara is sitting up straight in bed waiting for him, her languishing, amorous pose a thing of the past. “You’re sleeping on the floor tonight, Bossypants,” she snaps, a sour expression on her face.

 

“What did I do wrong?” Steve appears so panicked she almost feels sorry for him. Almost.

 

“Don’t you come near this bed.” She glares so hard at him he freezes where he stands, though she exerts no force upon him.

 

“Zaara. Please. I had to do something,” he pleads. “I love you so much. I’m only trying to protect you and our baby. I know you hate him, but you’ve got to understand.”

 

 _“Wade Wilson,_ Steve? _”_ Zaara snarls, clenching her fists. “ _Wade Wilson?_ You have no idea what you’ve done.”

 

“Storm says he’s a great fighter,” Steve pouts. “Without him, we’d be going in light. She won’t let us have Pete or Bobby. Gambit’s off limits. She won’t ask Hank McCoy. And the Avengers aren’t welcome. We _need_ some offence.”

 

“Well, your offence is going to be here in a New York minute,” she saysfiercely. “So _you_ get to welcome him. And if you ever want to see my breasts again, you will keep him _the hell away from me.”_

 

Something about her protest makes him smile. Indeed, it reminds him of Bob, the largest and most stubborn horse in the barn who snuck out of his stall and ate up all the hay bales one day. The massive beast had whinnied, stomped his hoof, and refused to return to his stall no matter how hard Steve tried to persuade him. He had never encountered an animal with such a sense of entitlement in his life. And Zaara is looking at him the same way right now. “Alright,” he replies humbly, regarding her with sad, puppydog eyes. “I’ll keep him far away from you at all times. I promise. Do you still want me to sleep on the floor? I will if you tell me to.”

 

Her heart melts, but she’s not ready to give in. “I’m still mad at you,” she frowns.

 

“Good,” he nods cheekily. “I like making it up to you. I’ve got all the time in the world.”

 

“Well, I don’t,” she snaps. “I need to rest for the mission tomorrow.”

 

“Alright, then,” he agrees softly, and a pang of guilt clenches her heart. “I’ll let you sleep. I’m sorry, darling.” He backs away, uncertain, and eyes the chaise. It’s a little short and would make a rather uncomfortable bed for a man his size. _There’s always the floor,_ he tells himself. _I’ve slept on the cold, hard ground before. As long as I’m near her, I don’t care where I sleep._

 

As if she follows his train of thought, Zaara gives a reluctant sigh. She opens her arms to him. “Alright,” she murmurs begrudgingly. “Come here.”

 

With a joyful grin, Steve swiftly returns to bed. Carefully, he sidles in next to her and rests his face in her hair. His lips tickle her ear. The pink glow on her skin intensifies and encourages him enough so that his thick hand begins to wander tentatively over her body, stroking each and every curve with such a gentle hesitancy it immediately arouses her and banishes all worry from her mind. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his lips upon her throat. She raises her arms up around his neck, bringing her mouth to his and savors the taste of him.

 

“Mmm,” she sighs with abandon. He tastes like her favourite ice cream though she can’t quite name the flavor. _If he were a flavor, it would be called Steve. And I could never get enough of it_. But his hands won’t stop and they slip the pajamas right off of her body. Suddenly she finds herself nude against him, his blue jeans and denim shirt roughly chafing her bare skin. Wrapping her legs around him, he juts against her with a needy groan.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

In the other room, Bucky unwittingly touches himself and gives a groan of his own. By his side, Logan snores away, grunting lightly at the disturbance but remaining fast sleep. The former Winter Soldier sits up, too hot and bothered to stay still. Just like that night in Alberta, Zaara’s ecstasy rouses him from his slumber, making him so stiff he is forced to seek the only privacy that can be found in the suite. Soon, the sound of running water drowns out the distant echoes of Steve and Zaara making love as Bucky takes refuge in the bath. In his mind, he hears it all anyways and roughly beats himself off to it. Every breath, every wave of sensation strikes him so hard he can almost see it with his eyes, taste it in his mouth; all the many ways she makes love to his best friend. Her lips caress Steve’s smooth skin and taste his masculine sweat, drinking it in like an elixir of pleasure. Bucky opens his mouth and pants out his breath, stroking himself firmly with his own hand. When he reaches his roaring release, he succumbs to a silent smile for the peace, calm, and satiety that take him over in the very same moment the two lovers in another room find their own release.

 

In time, he knows he will have to speak of this to her. But for now, he won’t. Perhaps she is aware of it already. He knows it means he will probably have to give up their tether, which is the last thing on earth he wants. And he knows that he enjoys it far too much, revels in this connection to her whenever she makes love to Steve, loves the way he shares in her ecstasy through no fault of his own, relishes how it brings him to an astonishing fulfillment that achieves the impossible by making him feel whole again.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

They hold each other skin to skin, body to body, Steve lavishing tiny, damp kisses over Zaara’s throat and stroking the small of her back with his long, strong fingers. His eyes, still empowered by the Asgardian fruit, focus drowsily on the bright pink glow of her skin that always intensifies upon her release. ‘You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs.

 

“You always say that,” she protests sleepily.

 

But a compulsion has seized hold of him and won’t let go. It first occurred to him in Canada, back in that hotel where they made love for the first time in the hour just before dawn. When the sun finally broke through the curtains and shed its early morning light upon her skin, his eyes feasted upon her body, so soft and womanly, albeit with the hard-earned muscles of a dancer. Ever since, he has dreamed of drawing her. His heart longs to sketch her form, render its fleshy elegance on paper, seize hold of it in time and create an image that will last. _A drawing just like the one I bought in Brooklyn_ , he thinks _._ Blinking back the hints of a headache that always come whenever his thoughts return to the drawing that made him faint some weeks ago, he figures if he sketches her now, it will grant him some peace. _Besides,_ he tells himself. _She’ll be changing a lot in the coming months. I’d love to draw her all the way through pregnancy, make a record of her body, capture all that beauty, every stage of it before our baby comes. If she’ll let me._

 

“What’s that, Steve?” Zaara asks sleepily, her fingers playing with his hair again.

 

Lazily tracing his thumb up and down her back until she gives a tiny shiver, he nervously makes his request. “I want to draw you, Zaara. Please. I’ve got charcoal and pencil and . . . I really want to draw you like this. Just for the two of us,” he adds, for she lies naked with nothing to cover her but his own body. “No one will ever see it but us. I promise.”

 

She blinks and directs her gaze to him, still sleepy in the soft dimness of the lamplight. “Well, I guess so. If it means that much to you. And if you don’t mind me just lying here ‘cause I’m so tired. It’s dark now. I’ll probably fall asleep.”

 

“Sleep away,” he smiles. “I don’t mind. You’re lovely when you sleep. I’ve been watching you sleep for months now.”

 

“Then why didn’t you draw me before?” she yawns and laughs. “I wouldn’t have known.”

 

“You were always wearing pajamas,” he points out, amused. “It’s a lot easier to draw someone without . . . without their clothes on.”

 

“Go on, then,” she chuckles lightly. “As long as you don’t mind me sleeping. Hey—” she adds, a thought popping into her head. “This won’t give you a headache, will it? Like that drawing you bought in Brooklyn? You don’t exactly have a good track record with nude pictures that resemble me.”

 

“Nah,” he blushes, though she doesn’t notice. “Quite the opposite, actually. Drawing you now, like this—the idea gives me such a good feeling. Don’t think I’ve ever felt better in my life, actually.”

 

“Then draw away, Bossypants,” she yawns sleepily and rests her cheek upon the pillow. In the next moment, she falls fast asleep.

 

Like a kid in a candy store, Steve leaps up and fetches his drawing pad. He only has one soft lamp to work with for he dares not risk more light and wake her up. But it doesn’t matter. He could almost do a negative drawing of her body and use the shadows to highlight her many curves, but then he realizes it would be a loss. The soft lamplight illuminates her skin so gently and it is that fleshy perfection he longs to render most. Her face, only half hidden by the pillow, seems innocent and trusting, utterly at ease in slumber with the blushing hints of an ecstasy a leftover passion from their intense coupling only minutes ago. If he were using paints, he’d colour her the most exquisite shade of pink, close to the magical glow still visible to his eyes. Her breasts, only partially concealed by her arm, float lightly over her torso and her hip curves jauntily, one leg straight, the other bent beside it. Her pose is gorgeous and peaceful and sexy all at the same time. Innocent but knowing, and Steve has never had the experience of making such a drawing in his life. It takes incredible trust for her to let him do this and he’s never felt more grateful for it—grateful for a woman who loves him, for the child she carries inside her, for the warmth of home and family. He knows he’s finally come home and he draws so happily, content in the feeling there’s no place on earth he’d rather be. Sighing happily, he sketches the night away, and only falls asleep the last hour before dawn.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

“ _Mutants_! Oh, _mutants_!” sings a jaunty voice outside the front door of the mansion.

 

Steve, who lies naked, gives a shiver but his supersoldier ears cannot miss the high-pitched frequency and he quickly jostles himself awake.

 

Zaara groans unhappily and mutters something incomprehensible. “It’s Wade,” her words finally become coherent. “He’s all yours, Steve. You promised.”

 

Remembering her warning from last night, Steve sighs, crawls out of bed, and pulls on a pair of track pants. The pounding on the door gets louder and, not bothering to put on a shirt, he dashes downstairs. It is so early in the morning, barely even dawn, and he flies to the door in order to save anyone else the trouble. This early morning visitor is, after all, his fault.

 

A male figure in skin-tight red taps his foot impatiently outside the front door of the X-mansion. He seems to be a fairly muscular specimen, though a slight bit scrawny, and Steve wonders at the mask which appears to be fully attached to the suit, rather like a unitard. It has no hole for a mouth, as far as he can tell. _This must be the mutant—Wade Wilson._

 

“Ooooh!” Deadpool gushes, eyeing Steve up and down like he’s staring at a juicy side of beef. “Yummy! And who might _you,_ be? A new mutant perhaps? And your powers, hmm, what could they be, I wonder? Making me question my sexuality early in the morning?”

 

“What?” Steve mutters, his voice groggy. He stayed up too late last night making drawing after drawing of Zaara. It felt as if it might be his only chance and he wasn’t about to give that up. He had put away his pencils and gone to sleep in fervent hope he’d have another chance to make love to her early in the morning before anyone else was awake. But that hope has been dashed by this strange man in red. Shaking himself out of his stupor, Steve clears his throat. “I’m Steve Rogers. You must be Wade Wilson.”

 

“Steve? _Steve!_ Why, of course you’re a _Steve_ ,” Deadpool coos, not recognizing him. “Do you happen to like unicorns, Steve? Because I do. You remind me of unicorns, Steve. I ride one every day. So, what _are_ you up to in the mansion, Steve? Never seen you here before. I dropped everything as soon as Storm called. I know how much you all miss me. But really, I know, it’s because you _need_ me. That is, you have need of my services. And I’m really good at _servicing_ , Steve, though I’ve never serviced anyone quite as manly as _you_ , Steve . . .”

 

“Would you like to come to the kitchen, Mr. Wilson?” Steve shakes his head in confusion, trying to be as polite as he knows how. “I can make you something to eat.”

 

“Kitchen? That’s kinky. Usually they take me to dinner and a movie first,” the man in red quips.

 

“Uh, can I offer you some coffee? No one’s up yet.”

 

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m already _up_!” Deadpool cackles.

 

“I can see that,” Steve agrees innocently.

 

“Really? Does the costume show it?” He crosses his hands over his crotch and shrugs playfully.

 

“Uh, I’ll do my best, Mr. Wilson,” Steve replies, uncomprehending.

 

“ _Mr. Wilson?_ Oh, Steve, what good manners! That just makes me _tingle._ I’m so touched you’re going to make me coffee,” Deadpool gushes, covering his masked mouth with his gloved hand. “No one ever wants me to stick around the morning after. You make me feel special, Steve, I must confess. But, no . . . I can’t. I just can’t.” The masked mutant brings his forearm to his brow in a melodramatic gesture that reminds Steve of Bette Davis. “I’m taken, Steve. I have someone. A girl. I mean, a woman. Not that you aren’t attractive, of course. What was your mutant power anyways? Devastating people with your handsome face? Killing the bad guys with your killer looks? Is that six-pack a deadly weapon of love? Or do your pheromones asphyxiate your enemies? Oh, what the hell, I’d _love_ to have coffee with you, Steve. I’m terribly flattered you’re interested. Vanessa will understand—especially if I let her watch!” He cackles to himself and clasps his hands together, tucking them beneath his chin and rocking back and forth like a delighted little girl. “I never knew this was a slash mansion!”

 

“Watch _what_?” Steve asks, even more confused. He frowns. But he ushers Deadpool inside and shuts the door. Wishing he had thought to cover himself with a robe, he walks half-naked down the hall to the kitchen. Deadpool follows, watching appreciatively. The kitchen isn’t far and the large industrial coffeemaker proves to be a bit of a puzzle. Before long, Steve figures it out and the coffee is brewing away.

 

“You’re dreamy, Steve. Do you know that?” Deadpool smacks his lips hungrily. “Can’t decide what smells better—the coffee or _you._ ”

 

“You know why you’re here, don’t you?” Steve willfully ignores his words. He has no problem with same-sex relationships; it’s the banter that bothers him. _No wonder Zaara can’t stand him._

 

“I get to go on a mission with Captain America. _Captain America._ He’s _so_ wonderful,” Deadpool gazes up at the ceiling, clutching his fists below his chin. But he makes a sudden start. “Wait. _You’re_ him, aren’t you? You’re Captain America!” Deadpool bounces up and down with glee.

 

“Yes. That’s me,” Steve replies dryly. Suddenly, Bucky enters the kitchen, Ellie and Henry holding tight to his legs.

 

“Kids got me up,” the former Winter Soldier mutters in a garbled voice, sleepy-eyed. He wears pajama pants and a white undershirt, his long black locks tousled, his face peppered with stubble. “Wondered where you went. Logan’s still asleep. So’s Zaara.”

 

“Zaara? My favourite telekinetic telepath? Oh, can I go wake her up! She’ll just _love_ to see me!” Wade makes a heart sign with his fingers.

 

Ellie’s face takes on a rather serious expression. “Mama doesn’t like you, Mr. Wilson.”

 

“Nonsense, muffinhead,” Wade coos and clucks, tickling her chin. Bucky hugs Ellie to his side protectively though the weird man in red tights clearly poses no threat, even if he appears to be the most annoying person on earth. Wade’s eyes lock on Bucky. “And . . . who might you be? A Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome with blue eyes, chiseled features, killer biceps, and a vaguely threatening look that suggests the lights are on but no one’s home?”

 

“Wade Wilson, meet Bucky Barnes.” Steve struggles to maintain a sense of decorum while Henry bolts and runs amok around the kitchen. Steve’s head starts to spin.

 

“Bucky Barnes? _The_ Winter Soldier?” Deadpool clutches his heart. “Well, this _is_ the slash mansion after all! Too much man for me, boys. I don’t think I can take it! I’m going to have to go home and ride my unicorn!”

 

"I love unicorns," Ellie says solemnly.

 

Bucky stares at Steve in utter confusion. “ _Steve?_ Who is this joker? _”_

 

“Bucky, this is Wade Wilson,” Steve repeats patiently. “Also known as Deadpool. He’ll be assisting in our mission today.”

 

“Zaara’s mission?” Bucky murmurs, his fingers absently brushing through his long, brown tresses.

 

“Oh, let me help you with that, handsome,” Deadpool smacks his lips and reaches for Bucky’s hair. “You look like you could use a cuddle.”

 

Bucky flashes him a cold, Winter Soldier glare.

 

“Tough guy?” Wade giggles. “I like that. And I think you like me, big boy. Do you manscape, or you do you prefer bears?”

 

Ignoring him, Steve continues. “He’s supposed to be a helluva fighter. And a healer--like Howlett.”

 

“You bet I am,” Wade fingers Bucky’s hair with his gloved hand. Too bewildered to respond, Bucky allows it. Ellie clings to his side, giggling. Deadpool glares at her. “Go away, little girl. The men are busy.”

 

Ellie pouts, then shouts out a warning. “Steve! Henry found the knives!”

 

Steve dashes across the length of the kitchen and scoops up the little boy he longs to call his son. “Alright, Henry. No knives for you.”

 

Wade sighs fondly. “Young lad reminds me of myself when I was a child.”

 

“God, I hope not.” Bucky frowns and tries not to flinch since Deadpool continues to caress his hair.

 

Steve ignores them both. “I’d better go check on Zaara. Kids, come with me. Would you stay with Wade for a bit, Buck?”

 

“Do I have to?” his best friend asks wearily, slapping Deadpool’s gloved hand as if it were a mosquito.

 

“Lucky Bucky!” Deadpool giggles, ignoring the slap. “We’re gonna spend the _whole_ day together!” And, in his best Streisand imitation, he sings. _“We’ve only just begun . . .”_

Bucky shakes his head. “This guy’s worse than Hydra,” he mutters to himself.

 

Steve can’t get out of there fast enough. With Henry in tow and Ellie not far behind, he swiftly returns to the suite. The children run to wake Logan, but Steve heads for the master bedroom where Zaara still lies asleep. With relief, he climbs back into bed and kisses her bare shoulder reverently. Nuzzling into him, she sighs in her slumber and lets him hold her. Not knowing what the day will bring, he takes his time gazing upon her before grabbing his sketchbook again. _She gave me permission, after all._ The early morning light pierces through the curtains and her skin glows light pink; not the fuchsia brightness of arousal, but a warm, fleshy hue that makes him want to taste it. Bending down to kiss her bare shoulder once again, he opens his mouth and lets his tongue linger there a moment. All at once, he is transported back into the ecstasy they shared last night. Sighing, for it seems quite a pity Zaara lacks his own supersoldier energy, he picks up his pencil. _She’s pregnant. She’s got a mission today and she really needs rest._ _I won’t wake her. I’ll just draw her._ This time, he decides to make a quick sketch of her sleeping face. After a while, he adds her neck, then her breasts which are bare and uncovered by the sheets. Watching her chest rise and fall, he contemplates the changes that will come to her body over the coming months. His mind wanders as he slowly starts to appreciate that he is going to be a father. His heart overflows with happiness and he releases the broad, ear-to-ear smile that he usually suppresses. In moments, the drawing is done. It feels so good to have made it, to have taken the time for such a thing at the dawn of a very busy day. He feels profoundly content. Uncertain whether to wake her, he remains by her side for some time until the children make noise again.

 

Howlett is awake and grouchy so Steve sends him downstairs to help with Wade. The Wolverine, however, does not realize they have a visitor. “Why can’t we have breakfast up here?” he grouches, the children running circles all around him.

 

“Bucky’s, uh, cooking downstairs today,” Steve fumbles.

 

“And there’s a man with him,” Ellie adds. “A funny man.”

 

“A funny man?” Logan looks askance.

 

“Uh huh,” Henry nods vigorously. “He’s all red.”

 

“All red?” Logan frowns. “Whattaya mean? Is he a communist?”

 

“Come on. Let’s go. Zaara’s still sleeping and I don’t wanna wake her up.” Steve dismisses his concern. When they reach the kitchen, the Wolverine snarls.

 

“Wade. Not _you._ ”

 

“Howlett,” Steve begs. “Wade is here to back us up on the mission. We need him. I promised Zaara I wouldn’t let him bother her.”

 

“Then you lied,” Logan says smoothly. “Wade bothers _everybody._ All of the time.”

 

“ _Logan!_ ” Deadpool practically dances across the room in delight. “Welcome to the sausage party!”

 

“Can we have bacon too?” Ellie asks innocently.

 

Steve sighs, but Bucky’s face says it all. “What took you so long?” the former Winter Soldier demands. “Thought you wanted me to _stop_ killing people. This punk almost makes me miss workin’ for Hydra.”

 

Luckily, Ellie and Henry have run off to eat pancakes and take no notice. “Buck,” Steve fumbles. “’M sorry. Have you two been getting acquainted?”

 

“A blonde, a brunette, and a bear,” Deadpool sighs as he reclines langorously on the countertop. “A boy’s dream come true.”

 

“Knock it off, Wade,” Logan growls and pours himself a cup of coffee.

 

“I thought Storm would _never_ let me back here. Not after what I did to the bannister and the . . . Oh, well. That’s a long, sensual story about a man, a bannister, and some vaseline . . .” Wade leaps off the counter and jubilantly skips around the room. “And here I am, drinking her coffee, eating her pancakes, surrounded by her _men._ Ahhh,” the mouthy mutant clasps his hands under his chin. “I think I’m lumbersexual.”

 

“Lumberwha—?” Bucky starts, but Steve swiftly shushes him. Luckily, the children pay them no mind.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

They hold no counsel but head out immediately after breakfast in a small motorcade; Zaara, Storm, Logan, and Lensherr ride in the Mercedes, Steve and Bucky in a jeep. Kitty steers a large sports utility vehicle with Wade Wilson, Jubilee, and Dust in the back. The drive does not take long and Zaara's group heads straight inside the house, leaving the rest outside the door with a sign that says, “ _Condemned_.”

 

What goes on in the house is a mystery, but after the first hour or so of waiting, Storm emerges to relay a message. “Everybody, listen up.”

 

Steve and Bucky stand at attention like the soldiers they are while Jubilee and Dust put their hands on their hips in a far more casual pose. Kitty lingers patiently behind them and Deadpool reclines on the front lawn, yawning. “What is it?” Steve asks.

 

“We’re expecting a guest." The weather-working mutant uses a tone that will broach no dissent. “You’re to send them directly inside. Copy?”

 

“Copy.” Dust, Kitty, and Jubilee nod, their trust in their leader absolute.

 

“Ma’am?” Steve inquires.

 

“Yes, what is it, Steve?” she asks patiently.

 

“Can you tell us who it is?” he politely requests.

 

“I’m afraid I can’t say,” she smiles enigmatically. “Zaara’s instructions.”

 

Bucky and Steve stare at each other for a beat. Finally, Steve takes a deep breath. “It, uh, would help if we knew who were looking for.”

 

“Don’t bother, loverboy.” Deadpool yanks up the bottom of his mask to chomp on an apple he stole from a tree in the neighboring yard. “She’ll never tell. It’s like talking to the Sphinx.”

 

“Thanks, Wade." Storm actually seems flattered. “I’ve got to get back inside now. We don’t have much time.”

 

Deadpool gives an exaggerated sigh. “Well, I was trying to work on my tan. Do you think you could up the UV index for a few, Weather Woman? Make it about ten degrees warmer? Or how about making it rain men? Oh, never mind. I think I have all the men I can handle.” His fingers make a come-hither gesture at Steve and Bucky.

 

Not giving him a glance, Storm waves him off and heads through the door, closing it tight behind her.

 

Just below his breath, Steve mutters in earshot of Bucky. “Wish I knew what the hell’s going on in there.”

 

“Me, too,” Bucky agrees softly. “She cut me off. I got nothin’,” he adds regretfully. They look at each other, chagrined.

 

“Hey, hey, hey, boys,” Deadpool coos flirtatiously. “You look like you could use some cheering up.”

 

“Knock it off, Wade,” Jubilee chastises.

 

“But I’m getting bored!” He gives a juvenile whine.

 

“Just shut up and deal.” Sooraya rolls her eyes and seats herself down in the grass. Her lengthy robe keeps her legs well concealed. Steve holds his tongue, reluctant to criticize his little band. Though a full-fledged X-man, Dust is no brawler so she might as well relax. He appreciates her willingness to keep Deadpool on a tight leash since he and Bucky are the watchdogs anyways.

 

“You know this mask protects me from sandstorms,” Wade teases, sticking his tongue out from behind it. Suddenly, a strange whirring sound can be heard from inside.

 

“What is it?” Bucky whispers.

 

“I’ll go see,” Steve whispers back. In a louder voice, he issues a command. “The rest of you stay here and keep watch. I’ll take a quick look and come right back.”

 

“Yes, sir!” Jubilee gives him an enthusiastic salute.

 

“Not necessary, kiddo,” Bucky grins. “We’re only on guard.”

 

“Oops. Sorry!” she blushes.

 

He smiles at her indulgently. _Quite a kid. Inexperienced, but enthusiastic. Reminds me of Steve when he was young._

 

With great caution, Steve approaches a window on the east side of the house. Taking a peek, he catches a glimpse of what could be a dining room. It is empty, so he continues around to the north side until he reaches what looks like a family room. Though the exterior of the house is mostly intact, the structure is rather derelict with exposed beams and wires, cracked dry wall, and broken glass. _No wonder the sign says it’s condemned,_ he thinks. There doesn’t seem to be any furniture and the place is virtually empty but for the four figures inside. Storm and Logan stand near the doorway while Erik Lensherr sits on a chair, the only piece of furniture Steve can detect. Kneeling down on the floor, Zaara’s eyes focus up at the ceiling. The expression on her face appears unreal and she breathes heavily through an open mouth, palms facing upwards and extended as if they are following her eyes. The whirring sound appears to be the result of a tiny particles of light swirling around her body. They remind him of when she read his mind back in Wakanda, the way she had drawn energy out of him and funneled it into the air. _She’s channeling something. But what? What the hell is she doing here? With that look on her face, I can tell she’s knocking herself out, she’s trying hard to do . . . something. But what?_

 

“ _I think we’re alone now . . .”_ A voice sings behind him. Steve nearly jumps out of his skin. Twirling around fast as lightening, the man known as Captain America seizes Deadpool by the throat.

 

“ _Wade?”_ Steve gasps.

 

Sniffling, Deadpool finds his voice again. ”Steve! You’re a fan of Tiffany, too!”

 

Sighing interminably, Steve releases him. “Wade. Never do that again.”

 

Undeterred, Deadpool only moves closer. “I missed you, Steve. It got lonely out there in the front yard. I tried to pass the time staring at Bucky. But I need _both_ my men to feel complete. Blonde _and_ brunette. It’s like peanut butter and jelly. There is no other way.”

 

“Wade. Stop it.” Steve’s patience is nearly spent.

 

“You. Complete. Me. Steve,” Deadpool makes the heart shape with his fingers again.

 

Bucky’s voice suddenly rings out. “Someone’s here!”

 

In a flash, Steve pushes past Wade and dashes to the front yard. A thick veneer has filled the air and he realizes Sooraya has transformed into dust. Jubilee fires random energy blasts from her hands in a panic, Kitty is nowhere to be seen, and Bucky crashes so hard into something he is tossed in the air, his body rising up high over the dust so that, for a brief moment, Steve sees him fly overhead. The former Winter Soldier crunches his body up into a ball and lands in a neat somersault in the next yard.

 

“It’s him!” Deadpool snarls. “Buckethead. He stole my library book. Now is my chance to enact my vengeance upon him. Tally ho!” Breaking into a run, he hurls himself through the dusty atmosphere and crashes into something very big and very hard. Moments later, he, too, hurtles high in the air just like Bucky, though not as gracefully. Landing on his face in the middle of the street, he slowly rises to his feet and draws his katanas.

 

“Buck!” Steve re-groups with his best buddy. “What the hell is that?”

 

Bucky wipes the dust from his mouth. “Some kinda monster,” he replies gruffly. “Came rushing at us. Has some kinda helmet on.”

 

Steve steadies himself. “Jubilee’s in there. Kitty must be phasing. And I don’t know how long Sooraya can keep this up.”

 

“Don’t worry! I’m coooooming!” Wade calls just before he hurtles himself back into the dust for a second time. Again, his body shoots up high into the air. “Weeee!” he screeches. “This is kinda fun, boys!”

 

“Dust!” Steve shouts. “Fall back! We need to see what this is.” With graceful acquiescence, the remarkable mutant gradually reassembles herself and positions her body behind Steve and Bucky. It turns out Jubilee is not far off. She remains bravely positioned in front of the two supersoldiers, hands held up in an offensive pose.

 

“I got this! I got this!” she bravely shouts.

 

Bucky glances at Steve. “I like this one,” he mutters under his breath.

 

Kitty comes out of phase and takes her place beside her Jubilee. Meanwhile, Wade is crumpled into a little ball on the ground, just about every bone in his body broken. “Don’t worry about me, guys!” he manages to squeak. “Just gimme a minute. The neckbone’s connected to the hip bone, ouch! I’m healing already. I can keep this up as long as _he_ can. I’ll do _anything_ to get my library book back. Those fees are killing me. How will I ever explain this to that sexy librarian? She’ll probably give me a spanking! At least I hope she will.”

 

Steve focuses intently as the last fragments of Sooraya’s dust dissolves to reveal a towering figure. “Remember me, butthead?” Kitty growls fiercely at the tall, monstrous man before her. It is an enormous man and, just as Bucky said, he wears a helmet. _Must be over eight feet tall,_ Steve estimates. _And dangerous._ Without hesitation, Steve breaks into a run and gives the bully the punch of his life with all his newfound Asgardian strength. To his credit, he manages to make the giant sway for a moment, but that’s all.

 

 _If he can withstand that hit, he’s pretty much impervious to any attack._ Steve braces himself. “Who the hell are you? What do you want?” he demands.

 

The man speaks and his voice shakes the ground like an earthquake. “She invited me here, runt. What the hell are _you_ doing here?”

 

“He attacked us,” Bucky says grimly. “He wants inside.”

 

“I’m _supposed_ to go inside,” the massive man counters. “That’s what she _told_ me.”

 

“You were _supposed_ to return my library book,” Wade wails from his crumpled position on the ground. “Give it back.”

 

“Can you hold him off?” Steve asks Bucky under his breath.

 

Bucky gives him a curt nod, eyes never leaving the vile figure.

 

“I’m going in,” Steve announces, and swiftly heads for the door. “Keep him out. For now.”

 

“Tell ‘em Juggy’s here,” the man in the helmet growls. It sounds like a threat.

 

“Don’t make a move,” Bucky tells him softly.

 

“Yeah!” Wade whines. “Or I’ll call the librarian! She’ll cut you, yo! She’s got glasses and wears her hair in a bun and YOU DO NOT FUCK WITH HER! YOU. DO. NOT. FUCK. WITH. LIBRARIANS. ASSHOLE!”

 

The Juggernaut regards him with a sneer but remains silent, waiting, as if the figure of Bucky could actually manage to hold him back.

 

Dashing inside, Steve seizes Logan by the elbow. The Wolverine barely stops himself from impaling him with his claws. “What the hell, Cap? You’re not supposed to be in here.”

 

Storm ushers them well away from the family room where Zaara still squats on her knees and Magneto remains in his chair. The look on her face is severe. “What?” she demands.

 

“There’s a guy outside,” Steve pants, speaking quickly. “He’s huge. Wears a helmet.”

 

“Let him in,” Storm whispers, annoyed. “It’s the Juggernaut. I told you we were expecting company.”

 

“You sure?” Steve asks fearfully. “Seems dangerous.”

 

“Balls.” Logan frowns. “I _hate_ him even more than Wade. What the hell’s _he_ doing here?”

 

“We need him,” Storm whispers back, eyes boring holes into his head for questioning her. “He was with us that day. Remember? Zaara didn’t think he’d show. But he did. We’ve got to let him in.”

 

Steve nods, though his heart sinks. He hates the thought of letting that gorilla anywhere near Zaara. There doesn’t seem to be anything he or Bucky can do to stop him, either. He has half a mind to send Sooraya in after him. She was the only one who seemed to have any power to slow him down. “It’s too risky,” the Wolverine protests, much to Steve’s relief. “That knuckledragger’s unstoppable. Remember?”

 

“Logan,” Storm puts her foot down. “We _have_ to. She said so. Now, quit wasting time. Can’t you see she’s getting tired?”

 

Stealing a glance at Zaara, Steve agrees and reluctantly heads outside to where the stand-off continues. Bucky stares down the man called the Juggernaut, a cold and threatening Winter Soldier expression on his face. Steve finds himself fascinated. If he didn’t know better, he’d actually think the monster was _scared_ of Bucky.

 

Slowly, Deadpool pulls himself back up on his feet, though one of his legs bends at a very strange angle.

 

Bucky doesn't stop staring. “Stand down.” Steve puts his hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

 

“ _What?”_ Deadpool shrieks, horrified. “What about my library book?”

 

“You heard me,” Steve repeats, louder. Bucky immediately complies and Steve can’t help but feel touched by the profound level of trust his best friend has for him. After a moment, Jubilee drops her hands. Sooraya has already moved to the side of the house, watching anxiously with Kitty. Only Deadpool remains, blocking the door with his crooked body.

 

“My mission is to protect this house,” he pants, struggling to pull his leg straight again. “And I will complete it. _And_ return my library book, too, thank you very much.”

 

“Beat it, runt.” The Juggernaut marches gracelessly to the door. Picking up Deadpool with one hand, he flings him casually up over his head. Wade flies about thirty feet into the air and lands hard on his ass in the middle of the street. A few neighbours come out to stare at him.

 

“Wade!” Jubilee runs over, hating to see him crushed. Bucky and Steve stare at each other a moment, sigh with regret, and hurry to help her drag Wade in off the street. Stretching his broken body out on the front lawn, they wait for Deadpool to catch his breath.

 

“Oh, fellas,” he pants, his one good hand stroking the grass. “What would I do without you? I’m gonna tell Vanessa I’m lumbersexual. She loves me, she’ll understand. Our relationship is all about acceptance. We’ll need a bigger bed, though. King-size should do it! It’ll fit all four of us. We’re going to have the _best_ cuddle parties!”

 

Jubilee looks at Steve. “Captain? What’s lumbersexual?”

 

Steve grimaces. “It’s not mission critical.”

 

“Oh. Okay,” she nods, planning to google it later.

 

Wade pats his temple with his forefinger. “Pssst! It’s NSFW!”

 

Ignoring him, their eyes fixed on the door as the Juggernaut slams it shut behind him. Bucky and Steve hold their breath.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Hours pass.

 

“Can’t stand all this waiting,” Bucky murmurs in exasperation. He is still standing at attention next to Steve while Deadpool reclines on the lawn counting dandelion seeds and blowing them into the air. Jubilee, Kitty, and Sooraya take turns marching around the perimeter in an effort to stay awake.

 

“You sure you can’t read anything?” Steve asks for the hundredth time.

 

Closing his eyes, Bucky concentrates. “Wait a second, Steve. I think I’m getting somethin’.”

 

“What is it?” he asks eagerly, just below his breath.

 

Bucky frowns and shakes his head. “Sadness. So much sadness. Like she’s lost something. Yeah, it’s grief.” He knows the feeling all too well. It’s hit him a few times since they woke him up from the ice. It’s the feeling that comes whenever he imagines Zaara dissolving their tether for the final time. He also felt it when she showed him that image of his mother back in Wakanda. But he’s grown since then, discovered that he only shoved that grief away because he wasn’t ready to feel it yet. Now, knowing Zaara’s grief, he’s reminded of his own.

 

“Grief,” Steve repeats, lost in thought. _Why? We’ve got so much to be happy for. What’s going on in there?_ “Is she alright?” he asks out loud.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky nods, tearing up. “I think so. It’s an old sadness, not a new one. It comes from a long time ago.”

 

Steve crosses his arms, pondering. “So how much longer do we wait?” he asks, not expecting an answer.

 

But a new expression takes over the former Winter Soldier and his face brightens with excitement. “Hold on—it’s coming. She ain’t sad anymore. Something’s broke through . . . it’s coming.”

 

“What? What is it?” Steve can’t help himself, he grabs Bucky’s flesh arm. From his place down on the lawn, Deadpool takes notice.

 

“Dunno,” Bucky shakes his head. “She’s blockin’ me out again. But it’s somethin’ good. Somethin’ she _wants_ to happen.”

 

“I have something I want to happen.” Wade Wilson sucks playfully on a blade of grass.

 

Steve has had enough. “ _Mr. Wilson.”_

 

 _“Captain Rogers.”_ Wade giggles and strokes the blade of grass rather suggestively.

 

Sooraya groans and Jubilee smacks her hand upon her forehead.

 

“Mr. Wilson, don’t think I don’t respect your . . . your . . .” Steve struggles to find the right words.

 

"My what, Captain Rogers?"

 

“In your dreams, Wilson,” Bucky rolls his eyes. “Just ignore ‘im, Stevie. We got bigger fish to fry.” He turns back to the house.

 

The door opens.

 

The Juggernaut steps through. “Outta my way.”

 

Not far behind him is Magneto. “Excuse us, gentlemen. We’ll take our leave now.”

 

“You’re leavin’?” Bucky marvels.

 

“Did Zaara say you could go?” Steve asks, bravely standing his ground and not caring that one of them is practically unstoppable, the other in control of all the magnetism on earth. Assuming the same courageous stance, Bucky remains by his side.

 

“She gave us her blessing.” Magneto tilts his head derisively and offers a sinister smile. “And though I’d love to learn about your shield, Captain Rogers and your new arm, Sergeant Barnes, we have pressing matters. We will see you gentlemen again, I have no doubt.”

 

It’s obvious the two of them are leaving together, but Steve cannot stop himself. “Mr. Lensherr! What about Wanda? Your daughter?”

 

The dangerous mutant pauses and, without looking behind him, considers it. “I’ll come for her another time. I have business to attend to.”

 

Steve’s heart clenches. _So he’s just gonna walk away from his daughter. Again. Poor girl._

 

From his crumpled position in the grass, Deadpool shakes his fist in the air, calling after them. “Cain! You still owe me that library book, you supercilious mook! How comes it’s taking you so long to read _Little Women?_ Are the big words slowing you down?”

 

Cain Marko snorts, but doesn’t look back.

 

Bucky has something else on his mind. “Let ‘em go, Steve. We gotta get to Zaara.” The two of them dash inside leaving Sooraya, Kitty, and Jubilee on guard. When they enter the room, their hearts wither. Zaara lies prone upon the ground, exhausted. Beside her is the body of a bald, elderly man, apparently without any clothes. Logan kneels at her side, frozen and stunned. “She did it. She really did it,” he says over and over again in disblief.

 

Noting their arrival, Storm swiftly issues orders. “Get the blankets out of car!” she snaps. “Right away!”

 

“Yes, ma’am!” Bucky is off in a flash, his mind not even registering Deadpool’s tawdry observation about how good his ass looks in a sprint. When he returns, Steve is holding Zaara in his arms, his lips peppering her face with kisses. Storm and Logan take the blankets and wrap them around the unclothed man who seems to be breathing, but not very well. Storm barks out more orders and the Wolverine takes the man in his arms very carefully and heads towards the car. Bucky closes in on Steve who seems to be shaking with fear. Getting down on his knees, Bucky leans in close.

 

“Bucky,” Zaara whispers, her pupils dilated and out of focus. It makes him realize she is sensing him with her mind’s eye. She reaches for him which makes Steve glance at him with a startled expression. _She asked for Bucky first._

 

“Yeah, doll?” Bucky breathes tremulously. She is so weary she can barely raise her hand to his face so he grasps her wrist and assists her. “Is this what you want?”

 

She nods and smiles. She takes no notice of Steve who still holds her in his arms.

 

Bucky touches the fingers of her hand to his forehead, then lowers them to his mouth, kissing them reverently while Steve looks on, jealous. “You did great, doll. You’re amazing. But you need to rest now.”

 

“Zaara?” Steve can’t resist interjecting. “Who was that man lying next to you?”

 

“Is he breathing?” she murmurs, barely awake. But Bucky senses her fear.

 

“Yeah, doll,” the former Winter Soldier reassures her, stroking her hair while Steve restrains himself from swatting Bucky’s flesh hand away. “He’ll be alright. But you gotta rest.”

 

With a sigh, she forces her eyes to focus and stares hard at him. “You look after him. Promise me.”

 

“I promise.” Bucky nods fervently. “Steve will, too. You don’t hafta worry about him. Just sleep.” But before the words are out of his mouth, her eyelids have closed and she is dreaming.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Bucky rides in the SUV next to the body—the very much alive body of an old man. As soon as he got a good look at his face, he knew this must be the same man he encountered on the astral plane. _The Professor._ Keeping him covered with blankets, he cradles the man’s torso in his lap while Logan holds on to his legs, clinging to his charge possessively. They can’t buckle the sleeping man in for he is completely unconscious. By now, it is clear to Bucky that there is no waking him. He cannot understand it, not even with the tether. Zaara is exhausted and in a deep sleep. He knows this is the Professor and yet, given the curious vibes Zaara projected before she fell asleep, he also realizes it is not. Something must be done with him, but Bucky isn’t sure what it is. Besides, Steve is so worried about Zaara that everything else will just have to wait.

 

When they reach the mansion, Logan carries the body down to the lab and Storm hooks it up to a life support system. She insists on doing the same to Zaara, though she is certain her friend is only resting and is probably just fine. Steve hates it, but he agrees. Bucky insists she be kept side by side with the elderly man who apparently materialized out of thin air. Neither of them dares to ask how this happened. Instead, Steve sends for Wanda. He wants to give her the bad news quickly and in person.

 

“Wanda, I’m so sorry.” He regards her apologetically before she can say anything. The room is empty but for him and Bucky and the two sleeping bodies on the beds. Declaring them both stable, Storm and Logan have left to contact Dr. McCoy while Steve and Bucky keep vigil.

 

“He's gone.” It is not a question. Wanda frowns. “But he’ll come back for me—someday.”

 

“When he’s ready, I guess.” Steve shrugs. “I kind of wish you never knew about him.”

 

“Me, too,” the former Avenger agrees sadly. “But in the long run, I suppose it is better to know the truth.”

 

“Zaara was afraid this might happen,” Bucky adds sympathetically.

 

“Was she?” Steve asks jealously.

 

“Yeah,” he admits, but addresses his words to Wanda. “Mostly, she was afraid he’d hurt you, kiddo. Magneto’s not a good man.”

 

“I know,” she replies softly. “But who’s _this_ man? Is it who I think it is?”

 

“Can you read him?” Steve asks, trying not to sound too eager.

 

“No.” Wanda is blunt. Closing her eyes, she concentrates. With a frown, she approaches the bed and brushes her darkly painted fingernails across the sleeping man’s brow. “There’s nothing there.”

 

“Nothing there?” Steve asks, puzzled. “What the hell happened today? Where did he come from?”

 

Bucky shakes his head. “Zaara’s gonna be devastated. She was afraid this might happen.”

 

“Let me check on her,” Wanda crosses over to Zaara’s bed and gently places her hands upon her friend’s sleeping face.

 

“How is she?” Steve asks, worried. “She’s . . . she’s not on that astral plane again, is she?”

 

Wanda smiles. “No. Just sleeping. But I can talk to her.”

 

They wait several moments while Wanda conducts a telepathic conversation. To his surprise, Bucky reads it. It’s not something he can normally do when Zaara is asleep, but Wanda opens the door so he figures he might as follow her inside.

 

To his dismay, Steve is locked out. A few minutes pass while he glances back and forth at their faces bitterly. Finally, he speaks up. “So, what’s happened?”

 

Wanda regards him uneasily. “She’s spent. It took all her energy. She needs to sleep for a long time. The doctor might have to give her an IV. You’d better have a meal ready when she wakes up. The baby will make her extra hungry.”

 

“And just what did she do today?” Steve asks, looking over at Bucky who is rubbing his chin, eyes filled with wonder.

 

“She brought him back.” It sounds as if Wanda is having a hard time believing her own words. “She brought back the Professor. This is his body. The Phoenix destroyed it and Zaara put it back together again.” Wanda shakes her head in amazement. “She did it. She actually did it.”

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Zaara sleeps an entire day. When she wakes, as Wanda anticipated, she is starving. Steve and Bucky are careful to feed her slowly so she won’t get sick. Hank McCoy gave her an IV to protect her from dehydration several hours earlier. Zaara is quick to ask them about the Professor. It saddens Steve that she seems to be thinking of Charles Xaviar before her own children, but Bucky doesn’t see it that way. He knows she is only trying to finish the mission. When all is said and done, she can be a mother again.

 

“How is he?” she gasps after swallowing a small morsel of food.

 

“He’s alright,” Bucky soothes.

 

“Vital signs are stable,” Steve adds, brushing her hair from her brow. “But I’m more concerned about you. Can you eat some more?”

 

“I could eat a couch,” Zaara snorts, but when she glances at the body lying on the table beside her, sadness overtakes her. “He didn’t come back. I failed.”

 

“No. You didn’t fail.” Storm makes a brisk entrance and puts a hand on her hip. “But we’ve got to make a trip to Scotland.”

 

“Scotland?” Both men speak at once.

 

“Yes,” Storm confirms proudly. “He’s there. Or, should I say, his _mind_ is there. And his body’s here.”

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

It takes another day before Zaara gets out of bed. With the help of the computers, Steve has been carefully monitoring her food intake while Bucky monitors her inner well-being. Since the last part of her mission is not at all dangerous, he insists on bringing the children with them. _They’ve been left behind too many times,_ Bucky tells her. _No more. This family’s gotta stay together—as long as there are no threats._

_You’re right, Bucky,_ she agrees.

 

Acting as if he’s the only rooster in the henhouse, Steve takes full charge of the arrangements. Thankfully, Wade is no longer around, but Bucky starts referring to his best friend as _Bossypants,_ hoping Zaara won’t mind if he steals the nickname. And yet, he is forced to give Steve his blessing. It’s alright by him if the man is in charge. _His heart’s in the right place, even if he’s getting as annoying as Deadpool._

 

 _I heard that, Bucky._ Zaara suppresses a smile. It gives Steve pause to see that playful expression on her face, but he says nothing. She squeezes his hand tighter as the Blackbird comes in for a landing. “It’ll be nice to take the children outside. It looks so beautiful here. I’ve never been to Scotland before.”

 

With a sweet smile meant for her eyes only, Steve squeezes her right back. “Bucky can take them. I’m not leaving your side.” And indeed, he hasn’t left her side at all. It troubles him that she’s being asked to expend more energy when she hasn’t quite recovered from the last part of the mission. Though he aches to make love to her again, he won’t touch her until she’s at her best, so he resolves to monitor all that goes on in Moira McTaggert’s laboratory, insisting that Zaara keep him informed about everything from now on. To his dismay, he discovers she will take the lead in the tricky and unpredictable process of transferring the Professor’s consciousness from an apparently braindead body back into his recently re-assembled body. During their flight on the Blackbird, he quizzes her about what went down in Jean Grey’s childhood home.

 

“I needed all three of them the room—four, actually, if I could get it,” she explains.

 

“Four including that Juggernaut?” Steve asks.

 

She nods.

 

“Why didn’t you tell us to expect _him_?” he demands. “Woulda saved us lots of trouble.”

 

 _He’d better go easy on you, doll,_ Bucky warns from the pilot seat, for Zaara is allowing him to eavesdrop, much to his delight.

 

“I had a lot on my mind,” she smiles weakly. “Didn’t want to scare you. Wasn’t sure he’d come at all. But he behaved himself—like he promised. No one was hurt.”

 

“Except Deadpool,” Steve points out, but he uses a gentle, teasing tone. _That joker’s indestructible._

 

“Good,” she nods with some satisfaction. “Somebody needed to kick his ass.”

 

 _That’s cold, doll,_ Bucky shakes his head. _Even for a numbskull like him._

 

She bites her lip and smiles naughtily. After a moment, she continues. “So, all four of them were there in the house when Jean tore Professor Xaviar apart.”

 

Steve considers it, then urges her on. “I’m not sure I follow.”

 

“I’m not a physicist,” she shrugs. “But I think it had something to do with atoms--you know, the building blocks of matter. I only took physics in high school, and I remember something about how _matter cannot be created or destroyed._ So, as far as I could sense it, something of the Professor, or what made up his body, was left there inside Jean Grey’s house and in the air around it. You should ask Hank if you want the, uh, technical version.” Steve glances up towards the deck where Hank and children sit behind Bucky. “My powers can take things apart and put them back together again. And when the Professor came to me in a dream and told me it’s time—well, I figured I had to try. I’ve never done this sort of thing before—at least not with living bodies. It’s not just moving things around, like telekinesis. That’s why Wanda couldn’t help me.” She pauses, resting for a moment since talking still tires her out.

 

Steve waits patiently.

 

“So, I gathered up every bit of his essence that was left in the environment, from the exact location where the Phoenix tore him apart. Of course it was a long shot. Lots of time has passed since it happened and environments change, but having Logan, Storm, Lensherr, and Cain helped me since they were close by when it happened. I used their presence to help sort through whatever traces might be left of _him_ —the matter that can’t be created or destroyed. And when I found it, I brought those pieces of him back together again.” She sighs, not sure how else to explain it. “Problem is, what I found wasn’t _him._ Not completely—just his body. That’s all I could get: his physical form. But he sent a message to Storm through Moira McTaggert and told us his mind took refuge in Scotland. For the life of me, I don’t know how he did it. His consciousness left just before his body was destroyed and entered this brain-dead body in Scotland.”

 

“That’s quite a jump,” Steve observes dryly.

 

“It sure is,” Zaara agrees. “The Professor was (and still is) the most powerful telepath on earth. He must have known Moira had a body that could serve as a host in her lab. That’s why we’ve come.” She pauses to rest a moment and Steve absentmindedly strokes her hand before he brings it to his mouth and kisses her fingers. She smiles and caresses his cheek before she continues. “Hank and I will help Moira get him back where he belongs—in his own body.” For a moment, she regards the Professor’s body where it lies in the back of the medical bay. “I just wish I could have healed his spinal cord injury so he could walk again.”

 

“When you put his body back together, you put all the parts right back where they belong,” Steve offers. “It only makes sense you couldn’t heal him.”

 

“Guess so,” she sighs, sinking into her seat. “I’m so tired . . .”

 

“Then why don’t you let me hold you, darling?” He cajoles her with his handsomest smile. “For old time’s sake.” And he pulls her onto his lap and cradles her like he did when they were coming home from Wakanda. Meanwhile on the deck, Hank snoozes away and the children run circles around Bucky in the pilot’s seat. The former Winter Soldier reluctantly begins a new movie on the screen so they quiet themselves for a time until they arrive in Scotland.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

A shimmering ball of light emerges out of the unconscious body that lies prone upon the laboratory table. Slowly, elegantly, it takes to the air and hovers for a moment before it begins its short journey across the room. Steve watches in amazement, jaw agape. _That’s my girl._ It is a strange and beautiful sight. The energy pulsates and floats gingerly over to the unconscious body of the beloved Professor Xaviar. A receptacle to be filled, the light slowly enters into its original home. Hank McCoy stands next to Moira McTaggert, carefully monitoring the process on screen. Zaara stands in front of them, guiding the mysterious energy with her hands, arms moving gracefully. It is almost as if she is conducting an orchestra. When the transfer is complete, she gives a long exhale. From his place in the corner, Steve remains frozen, staring.

 

The eyes of the bald man on the gurney flutter hesitantly. They open. They blink several times, acclimating to the light. Everyone holds their breath.

 

“Zaara?” A feeble voice breaks the silence in the lab.

 

“Professor,” she smiles.


	23. I'm in the Mood for Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter that took a long time to write.
> 
> I figure this story has about 4 or 5 more chapters left to go so I'm trying to wrap things up--albeit slowly. Things are probably going to be more soap opera style than action/adventure from now on; I hope you don't mind! We have two main threads left: the OT3 and the return of their memories. We are moving steadily towards both.
> 
> Enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING and DUB/CON or NON/CON: We have a flashback/nightmare scene involving dub/con or non/con and sexual abuse about half-way through this chapter. I tried to keep it brief and non-explicit. It involves the Winter Soldier's relationship with the Black Widow. There is some discussion of sexual coercion and the sexual abuse of men.
> 
> I hope I handled the idea of healing from sexual trauma compassionately and that my approach doesn't bother or upset anyone. I am neither a counselor nor a psychologist and did the best I can given the limits of this fic.

 

_I'm in the mood for love_

_Simply because you’re near me._

_Funny, but when you’re near me_

_I’m in the mood for love._

_Heaven is in your eyes_

_Bright as the stars we’re under._

_Oh, is it any wonder?_

_I’m in the mood for love._

__

_If there’s a cloud above_

_If it should rain, we’ll let it._

_But, for tonight, forget it!_

_I’m in the mood for love._  
 

 

 

 

 

 

“Try to relax.” Wanda gives a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Her touch only makes Steve feel worse.

 

Sam puts his hands on his hips. “How can you expect him to relax? If I was about to find out if I was the babydaddy, I’d be sweatin’ bullets.”

 

Steve reddens. “Thanks, Sam. But I _want_ to be the daddy.”

 

“For real?” The man called Falcon looks skeptical. “That girl’s got you wrapped around her finger, Steve.”

 

Steve shoots him a hard look that suddenly turns into a wide smile. Unabashed, he has to agree. “She sure does.” He turns back to the mutant the students have come to call the Scarlet Witch. “Wanda?”

 

“Hush, you two,” she murmurs, hands trembling where they make contact with his temples. Sam looks on with disapproval.

 

“You asked to come,” Steve reminds him saucily.

 

“Zaara said it’d be good training,” he replies with a frown. “And the three stoogies ain’t invited, so I went with it.”

 

“You’ve had enough of those girls, haven’t you Sam?” Wanda chuckles absently while she lasers in on her work. It takes quite the effort to unearth what happened before the surprise pregnancy. Swaths of residual emotion form a blockage in Steve’s psyche and she strains to navigate around it and detect what part, if any, he played in the event. Could Steve be the father? She cannot tell—yet. “The triplets are good girls, but they can be annoying. I am glad I don’t have to work with them.”

 

“The hell you say.” Sam crosses his arms and squints in a valiant attempt to follow in her psychic pathways. Wanda’s powers are wholly unlike Zaara’s and her form of telepathy bears no relation to his own training. Having only begun his studies since coming to the mansion, he is, however, a quick learner. Although he cannot replicate Wanda’s mental energy, he can certainly trace it. Her ruby red vapors seep over Steve’s skull and wrap around his body, searching for an answer. _Did Steve father Zaara’s baby? He claimed nothing happened between them, but he wants to be sure._ The energy hesitates a moment before settling upon his lower waist at the very center of his Adonis belt.

 

“I’m getting something.” Wanda's eyes squeeze tight in concentration.

 

“Oh, you’re getting something alright.” Sam smirks as the red vapors descend to hover over Steve’s private parts.

 

“Oh,” Wanda reels, embarrassed by the intimate inkling. As if in a dream, her mind is transported to the night of Steve and Zaara's first date. _They're kissing in the grass outside the X-mansion. Steve wants her, touches her, draws his body close, brings his lips to hers. He kisses her one last time and moves his face down to her hips . . . Her body shines with energy . . . It shines pink._

 

Blushing, Wanda drops her hands so abruptly it startles both men. “Whoa,” Sam pants, wiping the sweat off his brow. He saw it all unfold—every detail. Steve stares at the man called Falcon. “Whattaya lookin’ at me for? I ain’t gonna say it.”

 

“What? What is it?” Refusing to be embarrassed by the personal nature of his quest, Steve looks to Wanda.

 

She braces herself. “It happened the night of your date, Steve. Just as you suspected. You were right.”

 

Unable to speak, Steve gasps. His deepest suspicion confirmed, his head starts to spin. _It was me after all. Me. I did it. I’m gonna be a father._

 

“Yes,” she agrees. “You touched her . . . desired her. And her body received you. That pink energy of hers . . . It absorbed you, I think. It took something from you—your genetic information, I would guess. An energy got transferred from your body into hers—I could tell by the glow. It changed. That’s the best I can explain it. She took some part of your essence and . . .”

 

“Shazam.” Sam finishes, knowing her discomfort. “You’re the baby-daddy.”

 

“I can explain to her, if you like,” Wanda offers, ignoring the hot blush on her cheeks. The Captain has been both a father-figure and a dear friend. This reading became more intimate than she would have had it, but she would not refuse him. He wanted to know the truth so badly and Zaara has no way of finding out herself—not until after the baby’s born. Though Zaara’s powers are great, Wanda knows they are also mysterious and capricious. If Zaara attempted to uncover the truth, the shame of an unwanted pregnancy might well inhibit her quest and backfire. It was wise of Steve to turn to Wanda.

 

“No." He slowly shakes his head. “No thanks. I’ll tell her myself—when I’m ready.”

 

With a tactful sigh, Wanda issues a friendly warning. “She might find out before you’re ready, Steve.”

 

Steve shakes his head again. “I don’t want to you to have to keep anything from her.” Still pulling his thoughts together, he turns inward. _It was me all along. Me. I can't believe it._ “Let me tell her. Otherwise, she might not understand.”

 

“’Course you’d want to know the truth,” Sam interjects, having his friend’s back as usual. “It’s only natural.”

 

“But I told her it doesn’t matter,” Steve counters, getting ahead of himself. _So this rules out anyone else being the father. No one can stake a claim on this baby but me. Good._ “And that still stands. I told her I would be this baby’s father, no matter what the tests say. I . . . I only wanted to understand how it happened.” Thinking out loud, he directs his words at himself. “Some part of me knew it all along. I’ve always _felt_ a connection with her. I don’t know why; I can’t explain. It’s something to do with her scent, I guess. From the first minute I saw her, I recognized it. But it makes no sense . . .” he murmurs, resigned. Nevertheless, there is joy in his eyes.

 

“Well, then. Congratulations, Steve.” Wanda gives him a joyful hug.

 

“Yeah, man," Sam grins. "Congrats." And for once, his smile is not irreverent.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Since their return from Scotland, Zaara has barely left the Professor’s side. He lies in bed, asleep. They have yet to talk, but she connects with him telepathically every now and then. His recovery will be long, but she expects it will be a full one, much to her joy.

 

She knows Steve has gone to see Wanda for some reason or another. It seems, on the surface, slightly suspicious but she doesn’t worry about it. She trusts him. _I must be hopelessly in love,_ she tells herself _._ Bucky stays by her side, waiting. Steve didn’t tell him what’s going on, either, but he doesn’t care. Like a faithful pet or devoted servant, he follows Zaara everywhere and thinks only of her—and the children. _Me and my shadow,_ she smiles, meeting his gaze while the Professor sleeps.

 

_I’ll be your shadow, doll. I’ll be your anything. I’m just glad we’re home again._

She beams at him. _Me, too._

 

“I’m glad to be home myself.” A deep voice suddenly rings out through the room and startles them.

 

“Professor!” Zaara cries with joy. Restraining herself from squeezing his weak frame too hard, she leans over and gives him the most reverent of kisses.

 

“Zaara.” He beams at her and glances briefly at Bucky before returning his gaze to her. “It was you. You brought me back.”

 

“Only because you’re the best teacher in the world,” she cries, tears in her eyes. “You taught me everything.”

 

“But you did the work.” Tears glisten in his eyes as well. “We have so much catching up to do.”

 

he lifts his hand and carefully wipes away the tear rolling down her cheek as she makes her confession. “I missed you, Charles Xaviar. We’ve all missed you. Terribly.”

 

“I know,” he whispers back. “How marvelous to come home again. What a gift.”

 

She kisses him once again, fighting to still her trembling lip and the sob it can barely suppress. But the Professor squeezes her hand, his smile winning over his tears, and regards Bucky a second time. “Sergeant Barnes. What a pleasure to meet you.”

 

Bucky nods politely while his heart throbs in his chest. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, sir. Thank you for letting me stay in your home. And for Zaara. She’s given me . . . everything. A whole new life.”

 

“So it is,” the Professor agrees magnanimously. “A whole new life for me, as well. You are most welcome here, Sergeant Barnes. This is a home for mutants and mutates both; a place for healing and learning and growth. You belong with us for however long you wish to stay.”

 

Humbled, Bucky lowers his eyes to the floor. “Thank you.”

 

“You’re thirsty,” Zaara notes, relieved to stave off more tears. She pours a glass of ice water from the pitcher on the bedside table. “Hungry, too. I’ll order something from the kitchen. Will sandwiches do? Something simple, I think.”

 

The Professor nods gratefully, not taking his eyes off Barnes. _Well, well. You’ve had quite the journey, my friend. How lucky our Zaara found you._

_Yes. I’m a very lucky man._

 

Zaara throws them a grin just before she whirls out the door. _I’ll be back in a flash, Professor. Don’t you dare tire yourself out. Bucky is my job._

_Thank you, Zaara._

 

The former Winter Soldier regards him with trepidation. _Sir, I know I’m only a guest here. Zaara’s done so much for me . . ._

“I know you’re in love with her.”

 

Bucky’s jaw drops.

 

“It’s alright,” the Professor continues. “I’m too weak at the moment to help you sort through it. I can see it’s complicated. Entanglements often occur with a psychic tether. It’s a most intimate thing. I can tell you care deeply for her and would never hurt her. That’s what matters most.”

 

“No, I would never do anything to hurt her.” Bucky uses his softest voice, bravely meeting his gaze. “We’re in a tricky spot.”

 

“She has her work cut out for her,” the Professor agrees, performing a cursory scan of Bucky’s mind. “But she has done well. I’m not worried.”

 

“Don’t . . . Please don’t tire yourself out, Professor,” Bucky begs. “She’ll get upset.”

 

“You’re right.” Charles Xaviar agrees heartily, suddenly aware of his fatigue. “Good things come to those who wait. But why don’t you tell me how you feel about your treatment? It’ll save me energy. I can see that Bucky Barnes is an honest man.”

 

“It’s been rough.” Bucky regards him warily, hating to ask much of him so soon knowing how hard Zaara worked to bring him back. “Zaara’s a trooper. Hydra controlled the Soldier by saying ten words. They were my triggers, all of ‘em Russian. She’s wiped away six.”

 

“The notorious Winter Soldier.” Xaviar frowns. “I wish I had been around to assist. No doubt she had to erase all memories and associations brought about by those words. That’s a tremendous amount of work.”

 

“She’s had some help along the way,” Bucky continues. “Her students in Wakanda came to our sessions. Another telepath, Betsy, was staying at the school for a while. She helped out, too.”

 

“I see I have lots of catching up to do.” The Professor nods to himself as if the thought pleases him immensely. “I’d like to meet your companions. I can sense four new minds in the house. And I see all the old ones as well. Gambit is back, and so is Logan, I think.”

 

“Don’t strain yourself,” Bucky warns. “I can tell you all about ‘em. Steve is here, too—Steve Rogers.”

 

“Captain America. What an honour." The newly woken Professor smiles serenely and closes his eyes.

 

“And his friend, Sam Wilson. They call him the Falcon—he used to be in the Air Force. But Zaara’s training him. He’s also a . . .”

 

“A telepath,” the Professor interrupts, as if in a reverie. “With avian senses. Extraordinary.”

 

Bucky smiles in amazement. “You can see all that?”

 

The Professor grins again.

 

Zaara returns bearing a tray of fingerfood. “I promise the sandwiches will be here in a jiffy. Rogue’s still making them, so why don’t start with something small?”

 

Charles Xaviar directs his smile her way and Bucky doubts he’s ever seen anyone so happy.

 

“Bucky,” Zaara sings in a voice so sweet she might as well be calling him  _darling._ “Would you be a dear and open a window? We could use some fresh air.” The day is sunny and bright, the air mild, and she knows mother nature’s medicine will help bring her beloved teacher and father back to the world. “Professor,” she chastises. “Now is not the time to discuss _my_ problems. Everything’s under control. I’d be glad of your help later, when you feel up to it. All you have to do now is take care of _yourself._ ”

 

“But I miss the children,” he protests in a wistful voice. “How long has it been?”

 

“Almost two years.” Zaara swallows a sob. “We’ve missed you so much.”

 

“Henry must be a big boy,” he declares, smiling proudly. “I can’t wait to see him. I remember when he was born.”

 

“You will,” Zaara promises. “Soon. But let’s give it a few more days. He’s a wild child and I’d hate for him to jump on you while you’re in this condition. How about I bring Storm by this afternoon? Rogue, Blink, Kitty, Bobby, and Pete can come, too. They’re all dying to see you. Eat and drink, rest a little, and you’ll see them soon. I promise.”

 

Her words seem to satisfy him. “I don’t suppose you can add Logan and Remy to the list?”

 

“Let me check with Storm.” Zaara winks at him. “It shouldn’t be a problem. But she’s the one in charge these days and she’s expects a full recovery, so we’re not taking any chances. I see you’ve been getting acquainted with Bucky, have you?” Her tone is light, but it doesn’t mask her concern.

 

“You’ve grown strong, Zaara,” Xaviar observes shrewdly. “I can’t hide anything from you. Can I?”

 

Grinning harder, she shakes her head.

 

“A baby. How delightful." The Professor chuckles and his deep, sonorous laugh reminds Bucky of Santa Claus. “Why didn’t I see it before?”

 

“Are you reading any mindwaves?” she asks hopefully, rubbing her still-flat belly. “Because I don’t. It’s still so early.”

 

“No. No mindwaves yet,” he admits. “Just joy. And it’s yours. There’s nothing like a baby coming into your life.”

 

“No. No, there isn’t,” she agrees reverently, her voice free of shame.

 

The Professor’s gaze travels back to Bucky thoughtfully, then returns to Zaara. _These children couldn’t be more loved than they are here at the school. They belong with us, Zaara. And so do you, my dear. Your powers make beautiful babies._

_Thank you. You’ve always been more of a father to me than . . ._

_Don’t be too hard on your original father,_ Charles warns.

 

 _I know,_ she agrees. _But life has led me to some strange places._

“Life has given you so much love, Zaara. And it’s sent love my way, as well. Let us celebrate it." Xaviar's declaration is Bucky’s delight. “Why don’t I throw you a baby shower once I’m up and about?”

 

“A baby shower?” She laughs. “I’ve already had two babies. I’ve got all the toys and gear I could ask for.”

 

The Professor laughs right along with her. “It makes no difference. We are going to celebrate _this_ child. They’re worth it.”

 

“We should celebrate your new life, too,” she adds, tears in her eyes again. Bucky grasps her shoulders while she squeezes the Professor’s hand.

 

“It was all thanks to you,” he declares, missing nothing as Zaara and Bucky lean into each other. “We’re all of us very lucky.”

 

“We sure are.” Bucky wholeheartedly agrees.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

“Zaara.” Steve leans against the bedroom door, arms crossed.

 

“Hmm?” she murmurs absently.

 

Noticing that she is folding laundry, he frowns. “Leave that. I’ll do it," he chastises.

 

She stops. “Steve.” Putting her hands on her hips, she tries to sound patient. “Stop treating me like an invalid. You and Bucky both. I’m pregnant, not sick.”

 

“That’s not what this is about.” He shakes his head, wondering where to begin.

 

Catching the look on his face, her demeanor changes and he detects a dash of concern in her voice. “What is it?”

 

“I have something to tell you.” Taking her hand, he leads her to the side of the bed uncluttered by folded clothes. Seeing how he shut the door behind him, she braces herself. “Sam and I met with Wanda this afternoon.”

 

“I know,” she says, struggling to indulge him. “Are you going to tell me what that was all about?”

 

“Yes,” he nods sheepishly. “I know how hard it is for you to read my mind. So I asked Wanda to do it. I wanted her to dig around and see if there’s anything I did to get you pregnant.”

 

Zaara gulps.

 

He strokes her hand and places it firmly on his thigh, as if he can control her reaction by his touch. “And before you get angry, I want you to know the reason why. I told you before I want to be the father of this baby no matter what the tests say. You don’t need a paternity test at all, as far as I’m concerned. But I keep having these feelings about you. I’ve had ‘em all along, to tell you the truth—from the first time I met you in Wakanda. It’s something about your scent . . . I don’t know exactly. I can’t explain. Wanda’s powers work differently than yours so I thought there’s a chance she could figure it out.”

 

“What did she say?” Zaara asks with a slight tremble.

 

Steve puts his well-muscled arm around her shoulders. “That I _am_ the father. That I got you pregnant the night of our date. She saw your pink glow through my memory—that glow you have from Asgard.”

 

“My . . . pink glow?” Zaara repeats, bewildered. Looking up and down her arms, she cannot see it for herself. She only ever saw it in Asgard. _But Steve ate that fruit. I didn’t._

 

“Yeah,” he nods eagerly. “I can still see it here on earth. It’s not as bright at the moment, but it sure was glowing the night of our date. I’m guessing you’ve always had it and I just couldn’t see it before—not until I ate that fruit from Freia’s garden. I haven’t been the same since. Whatever happened between us that night . . . Well, it was something magical. Wanda said it was a transfer of energy from me to you. Now you’re pregnant, and we know why.”

 

Zaara struggles to process his words. Though part of her still wants to take on the blame, she forces herself to focus on Steve. His blue eyes hold an expression so tender and honest she quickly understands why he consulted Wanda.

 

“It’s not a mystery this time.” He strokes her cheek. “Well, it’s kind of magical, but at least we know the truth. _I_ got you pregnant. It was _my_ fault. I hope you don’t mind,” he blushes. “So don’t ever think you’re alone in this. It takes two to tango . . . At least it did this time round.”

 

Dumbfounded, she can only murmur his name through the lump in her throat. “Steve . . .” They kiss and her mind spins. _So strange. The Professor always knew the kids had someone else’s DNA. The tests proved it. We just didn’t know how it happened. Wanda’s figured it out—it’s an energy transfer. Crazy._ “Wanda,” she breathes between kisses.

 

“Yeah?” he asks, rather breathless himself.

 

She grabs hold of his shoulders and firmly pushes him away. “I should go see Wanda. Just to be sure.”

 

“Of course,” he agrees. “But don’t let any of this hurt you, darling. I only did it to get some reassurance. That’s all.” Dropping to his knees, he brings his mouth to her belly and kisses it. To Zaara’s delight, he directs his words to the tiny being inside of her. “When are you going to get bigger, huh? So your mama can start wearing some of those pretty maternity dresses?” In truth, he cannot wait to see her body change and grow.

 

She giggles in spite of herself, for it’s easier to laugh than get caught up in the pounding of her heart. “Looking forward to me getting fat, Steve?”

 

“I can’t wait,” he confesses dreamily. “You’re so beautiful. You get more beautiful each day.”

 

“Flattery will get you _everywhere_ ,” she replies, stroking his dirty blonde hair.

 

He gazes up at her innocently, blue eyes elated yet flooded with concern. “Does this mean you forgive me?”

 

“For what?” she asks, confused. She stops stroking his hair. “What did you do wrong?”

 

“I went behind your back.”

 

She laughs, her fingers curling up in his hair again. “No, you didn’t. You _told_ me you about your meeting with Wanda.”

 

“Yeah, but . . .” He frowns, doubtful. “I was afraid you’d think I care whether our baby has my DNA.”

 

His words are like a balm to her heart. “Steve, I believed you the first time you told me that. I still do. I’m glad you met with Wanda. I’d like to talk to her myself; I haven’t been able to spend much time with her. The Professor’s gonna be fascinated.”

 

“Good.” Sitting back up on the bed, he takes her in his lap. “But can it wait a while? I have something else to take care of first.”

 

“Do you, Captain?” she murmurs. And before she can do anything to stop it, she is swept away by his kisses.

 

 

 

~

 

_Satin pointe shoes glide across an empty stage._

_Darkness pierced by a hazy spotlight._

_Feathers hover in the air, bright peacock blue against the blackness of the theatre. Aloft for a moment, they begin a slow descent to the floor. Littering the stage, they are scattered by silent pointe shoes dancing tiny steps all around them._

 

Bucky gasps.

 

This is not the first time he’s had this vision. He first saw it back in Wakanda. Though he spent two years living on his own in Bucharest, he never had such a strange memory. During those days, his mind dwelt only on Steve and he spent his time scribbling in the pages of cheap noteooks about his best friend, hasty recordings of haphazard memories, images, and feelings; all of it in a lonely, desperate attempt to scrape his life back together again. And now, he has another piece of the puzzle. _When the hell did I ever go to the ballet? Not once in my life. Not ever. Why do I keep seeing those pointe shoes? And those blue feathers?_

 

Over at the barre, Zaara continues stretching while Steve sits upon the floor, pencil in hand, capturing the beauty of her form. Innocent, he has no clue that Bucky has just had a vision. The former Winter Soldier remains frozen in place by the tall, arched windows of the dance studio. He directs his gaze outside, but it is no use.

 

Zaara stops.

 

“Bucky?”

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Zaara’s days are long and busy and this one is no exception. It’s taken extra effort to get the children to bed for they’ve been bursting with energy ever since their return from Scotland. They resent the many demands on Zaara’s time, even with Steve and Bucky taking over parenting duties while Zaara looks after the Professor and her many pupils. On top of it all, she must contend with the nausea and fatigue of early pregnancy. By the end of the day, it leaves the class five mutant exhausted. Nevertheless, a deep sense of gratitude fills her heart and she marvels at how far they have come. “I can’t believe we have him back,” she murmurs for the umpteenth time.

 

“I know, sweetheart. I’m so happy for you.” Steve kisses her where she lies, collapsed in their bed. By now, the Professor’s condition is showing small signs of improvement, much to Steve’s relief. Zaara’s efforts have been fruitful and Steve seems positively radiant—more so than she’s ever known him to be. She guesses fatherhood will suit him. The two of them are still adjusting to their new life as a couple and soon, the Wolverine will be ready to move into his own room leaving only three adults in the suite. But not yet.

 

“I’m worried,” she suddenly confesses.

 

“About Bucky?”

 

“Always,” she admits. “That flashback during ballet today—”

 

“I know,” he chimes in. “But can it wait ‘til tomorrow? We’re won’t solve any of this tonight.”

 

“You’re right,” she agrees. She strokes his hair tenderly, thrilled to have him alone. Sometimes it feels as if she can never get enough of Steve. Somehow, she does not resent the many demands on her time. She still loves being with her children and living in the X-mansion and its large, extended family. She even loves seeing to all her duties and obligations, but there’s nothing like having private time with Steve. To indulge in her longing for him, to be held in that loving place meant for her and her alone, sustains her. It gives her the strength to do all the things she has to do and she’s never felt so alive. By now she is about three weeks pregnant, according to Wanda. Hank is waiting to do the first ultrasound, carefully counting the days in her cycle. The nausea comes and goes and she carries snacks in her pockets to ward it off. Steve is extra protective of her and so is Bucky. If they didn’t love her so much, their antics would be rather annoying, but she doesn’t mind. Their concern is genuine. Steve is always willing to do anything to make her feel better.

 

Indeed, he has proven to be a quick study and he avidly employs his supersoldier senses to memorize her body’s responses to his touch in the most intimate of ways. It delights him to track everything she enjoys and he eagerly experiments with new ways to please her. In a never-ending pursuit of her pleasure, he takes time each night to give her a slow, sensual warm-up to his affections. There are never any shortcuts. Early pregnancy may have taken its toll on her physicality, but Steve’s only ever been intimate with her since this pregnancy began and so is exceedingly patient. After all, he has nothing to hold in comparison and he’s in no hurry. Having read three pregnancy books by now, he knows she will likely become an even more enthusiastic lover during her second trimester. _A man can dream_ , he tells himself, and kisses her again.

 

“Steve,” she pants, his mouth lavishing kisses all over her. All too soon, she is lost in his body and the exquisite way he makes her feel. He runs his mouth up and down her sensitive folds, teasing her relentlessly, building her up until she is ready to fall apart. The sweet torture, prolonged and unswerving, makes her cry out and beg. Cajoling her to such a state pleases him immensely, makes him feel a satisfaction he’s never known in his life. Reluctant to bring it all to an end, he draws out her climax as long as he can before succumbing to his own. When he reaches his end, skin glowing, eyes wide with bliss, body nearly spent, she cannot resist. Though she lies helpless and enraptured, every nerve twitching erotically, she finds herself urging him to take her a second time. Aroused to see him respond so quickly, both of them reach the heights of ecstasy yet again and her smile grows so wide it makes her head spin. It seems that the love of a woman can indeed tire out Captain America, much to her delight, but she won’t tease him about it. She only strokes his sweat-soaked hair while he rests his cheek upon her breast, its flesh a jiggly pillow, kissing him and telling him she loves him.

 

They fall asleep this way, his heavy weight covering her body, a blanket of hot male flesh that presses his scent upon her and marks her as his own.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Accustomed to his regular nocturnal visits to the shower, Bucky figures that, besides keeping him exceedingly clean, it saves time during the day. Unable to ward off the fervor of Zaara and Steve’s coupling night after night, he accepts this unexpected and intimate connection to her, loving her with the same devotion as he has from the beginning. During these times, he never tries to connect with her mind—he allows her to swim in her sea of bliss while she pours her love out upon Steve. Losing herself in Steve and his body, she has no thoughts of Bucky during these times, no inkling that he feels every ounce of her ecstasy, no hint that he shares her experience deep in his own body.

 

He really cannot blame her for her losing herself each time and imagines Steve must be equally lost in this heady gyre of passion, night after night. He knows he would be, were he in Steve’s shoes. In truth, he is deeply happy for them both. Strangely enough, their love nourishes the lonely former assassin. It seems to grow night after night, as if it were some healing ritual that allows him to drink from the very nectar of life itself--a sip of the joy and ecstasy of being alive, of all the heights that passion can reach, and all the feelings he has never experienced for himself.

 

He worries that she might hate him when she discovers the truth. But he loves her too much to tell her—yet.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Late in the night, a dream seeps through Bucky's mind like a vapor.

 

_There’s a woman beside me. We're in bed. She’s nude. She’s beautiful. She touches me and I want her. Long, red hair swishes back and forth over her breasts, nipples pointing out at me and I want her bad. Who the hell is she? I don’t know her. I don’t know who she is. This is wrong. The room is dark and she climbs on top of me. She frowns and takes me inside of her. I cry out. I don’t want it. My body wants her, but I don’t. She’s a stranger to me. I have no clothes on. I can’t move. My arms are tied. So are my legs. I can’t fight her, I can’t stop this from happening. They’re watching me. It feels so intense. I think I’m gonna lose my mind. I don’t want this—not this way. It’s wrong. She clamps her thighs over me and won’t let go. I can’t stop it, can’t stop this from happening. She looks determined, like she doesn’t enjoy it. But she doesn’t stop. She rocks her hips on top of mine until I can’t help myself. I don’t want it, but I can’t help it. I come inside of her. She clamps down on me tighter until she’s satisfied._

 

Tossing and turning, Bucky’s torment rouses Logan from his slumber. The Wolverine automatically unsheathes his claws, tearing the bedsheets to shreds. In a daze, he curses. “Shit. Look what you made me do. Zaara’s gonna kill me.” His heart pounds and he glares at Bucky. “Wake up, bub! You’re havin’ a nightmare.”

 

Bucky moans, skin sweat-soaked and pale, teeth chattering.

 

“S’alright, kid.” Logan sheathes his claws and grips him awkwardly by the shoulder, uncertain how to comfort him. “You had a bad dream. It ain’t real. Nothin’ happened. We’re in bed. It’s still night.” He pauses a moment and considers it. Bucky still hasn’t spoken, but he seems to be slowing his breathing in an effort to calm himself. “I thought _she_ was supposed to keep the damn nightmares away,” he mutters with indignation. “This ain’t my job.”

 

Bucky’s blue eyes glitter and dart over to the door. At the same moment, their supersoldier ears register a series of light moans coming from the opposite end of the suite. The distinctly sensual sounds can be heard through three sets of closed doors that separate them. “Oh, lordy. That.” Logan sighs awkwardly, not missing the dual expression of jealousy and longing washing over Bucky’s face. The man is still recovering from his nightmare and Logan offers him his sympathy. “Look, kid. I know what it’s like to love someone you can’t have . . .”

 

Bucky stares at him with a grim expression that recalls the Winter Soldier. But inside, he is torn between the memory of his nightmare and the overwhelming sensations beaming at him through the tether. He drowns in a mixture of sensual arousal, residual terror, and loss.

 

“Yeah.” The Wolverine agrees, dropping his gaze. “Feels just like that. Say, why don’t we get outta here for a while? Go for a walk? She won’t mind. She’d understand.” Bucky says nothing but gives a curt nod and hops out of bed. Wearing nothing but pajama pants and undershirts, the men leave the suite. Their feet bare, they head outside and welcome the cool softness of the grass between their toes as they saunter across the grounds. “I used to do this a lot, back in the day.” Logan gazes at the moon. It is not full this evening but shines brighter than the stars. “Helped me get through some rough patches.”

 

Bucky does not answer.

 

“Say, you ever gonna talk bub?” he asks.

 

Bucky shrugs.

 

“Nah, it don’t matter anyways. Sometimes there ain’t nothin’ to say.” The Wolverine waxes philosophical. “All them women talk and talk but it don’t make no difference.” Suddenly, he stops. His ears flicker and he tilts his head, listening. “Hear that, Pretty Boy?”

 

Bucky stands alert, eyes focused on the ground. The brightness of the moon aids his supersoldier vision and he feels something tickle his ankles. His eyes detect a cluster of short, spindly plants down in the dark. They sway back and forth in the night breeze and if he didn’t know better, he’d think they were _crying._ Indeed, something like a high-pitched whine tortures the Wolverine’s ears as well. Dropping to his knees, Logan brings his face closer to the earth. “What the hell is this?”

 

Reeling from his bad dream, not to mention the erotic feelings still beaming at him through the tether, Bucky strains to find an answer. There is something he has forgotten, something he has not thought about since the whirlwind of events over the last few weeks. “Zaara.” He shuts his mouth, as if her name were enough.

 

“What the hell?” Logan grouches, eyes stuck on the tiny plants. Though he realizes all plants are alive, he has the distinct sense that these tiny saplings are more than that. They’re _alive._ Awake, perhaps. Some part of his animal self knows it, though it makes no sense. “Did she do this?”

 

“Yes. I think so.” Bucky speaks hesitantly.

 

“These plants ain’t normal, bub.” The Wolverine shakes his head solemnly.

 

“No.” Bucky agrees quietly. “No, they’re not.”

 

“They . . . They’re _talkin’_ to us,” he concludes in disbelief.

 

In his softest voice, Bucky concurs. “I think they’re crying.”

 

“We gotta tell her,” Logan mutters. _Somethin’s wrong. These are like . . . baby trees. Saplings—if memory serves. But somethin’ else, too. But I ain’t no gardener._ And still, they cry for help. If Logan didn’t know any better, he’d guess it was a hunger cry _._

 

“No.” Bucky is adamant. Something tightens in his chest and he flinches, knowing Zaara is in the throws of ecstasy at this very moment, legs wrapped tight around Steve, crying out his name over and over again. Bucky stiffens in his pajama pants. “Not right now.”

 

“Well, not _right_ now.” Logan quickly agrees, transfixed by the little plants. “I know she’s _busy._ ” He does not know what else to say. His mind is sluggish from being woken from a deep sleep and he is acutely aware that the former Winter Soldier, a most dangerous man, could go off the rails. Both of them are on their hands and knees prowling the ground, fussing over a group of tiny plants swaying back and forth in the moonlight and Logan comes to a new conclusion. _Hell. We’re both nuts._

 

Bucky offers an observation. “They’re hurting. I think they’re hungry.”

 

“I think you’re right,” Logan agrees. _At least someone else can sense it, too. Let him obsess over the little plants. At least he ain’t runnin’ away. At least I don’t hafta chase him. Or fight him._ “Don’t know how I know. Just do.”

 

Bucky seems at peace with this conclusion and does not seem at all worried about the oddity of the situation, two mutate supersoldiers on their knees, gardening in the middle of the night. Indeed, it is a welcome distraction from what he is still experiencing through the tether. “How do we feed ‘em?”

 

The Wolverine scratches his head, thinking. “Dunno. What do plants eat? Water? Dirt?”

 

Bucky digs his bare toes into the earth. It feels cool and damp. “The ground’s moist. They shouldn’t be thirsty. They sound _hungry._ ”

 

The Wolverine snorts. “Maybe they need summa that stuff they have in the greenhouse. What’s it called? Plant food? Fertilizer or somethin’?” With a wry grin, he recognizes the irony of it. “I ain’t used to feedin’ trees. Only know how to chop ‘em down. Used ta be my job for a while.”

 

Bucky shrugs helplessly. “Ain’t no greenhouses in Brooklyn. Or Siberia.”

 

“You got that right, bub.”

 

A sudden noise makes both of them turn their heads. It comes from the side door. Steve steps outside and closes the door softly behind him so as not to disturb the sleepers in the mansion. His chest is completely bare and he stands half-naked, shivering at the coolness of the night wind. Wearing only his pajama pants, he crosses the green and stands between them, feet bare in the grass just like their own. “Little late for gardening, boys.”

 

Bucky rises, hands on his hips, and grins. He really can’t help it. Steve glows like a man well sated. The tips of his dirty blonde hair glisten in the moonlight and Bucky scents Zaara all over him. For a moment, he wonders whether the sweat on Steve’s muscular chest belongs to her. There’s no way to tell. But the flush of his skin is a dead giveaway.

 

Logan notices it, too, and is careful to avoid standing downwind. Zaara is an old friend and he has no desire to become more intimate with her than that. “Fancy seein’ you here, bub.”

 

“Zaara sent me,” Steve says bluntly. “She’s worried about Bucky. Thought it’d be better if I checked on you instead of goin’ in through your head. She told me Bucky had a nightmare. Says she’s sorry, Buck.” He reaches out his hand and places it upon Bucky’s bare shoulder.

 

“S’alright.” Bucky gazes down upon the ground. “Something’s wrong with these plants. Maybe she can figure it out.”

 

Glancing back and forth between the Wolverine and the former Winter Soldier, Steve takes careful stock of the situation. _Are they both crazy? One of ‘em I’d understand, but both? At the same time?_

Zaara quickly intervenes. _You’re right, Bucky. They’re life forms—not just plants. That plant alien, the big one called Groot—he left them here. I’ll come by and see them in the morning. I’m so sorry you had a nightmare. It was all my fault._

 

 _Don’t sweat it, doll. I’m alright._ Bucky clears his throat and nods at Logan. “Let’s go, Howlett. She told me she’ll check on them in the morning.”

 

“Nah,” the Wolverine frowns. “Doesn’t feel right. We can’t leave ‘em like this. They’re hungry. I can tell.”

 

Steve sighs. “So you can talk to plants now, Howlett? Never knew you had it in you.”

 

“What’s it to you, bub?” Logan gives a slight growl. “Mother Nature and I are pretty tight. She’s like an ex-girlfriend, to tell ya the truth. I gotta sense about these things.”

 

“Look, let’s just go the greenhouse and get them some of that . . . that plant food you mentioned,” Bucky implores. He, too, hates leaving the small saplings in a state of hunger.

 

Steve, who cannot make sense of any of it, crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re telling me that these plants are hungry and you want to feed them right now, in the middle of the night?”

 

The Wolverine and the former Winter Soldier nod in unison.

 

Steve thinks about it for a moment, then makes a proposal. “If we feed them, will both of you come back to bed?” He yawns, almost completely spent.

 

“Sure, bub,” Logan cannot help but yawn in return. “I’d feel better that way.”

 

“Me, too,” Bucky pipes up sheepishly.

 

“Swell.” Steve shrugs off his fatigue and assumes the mantle of the Captain. “Let’s head to the green house.” They follow him to the lovely glass structure that is as old and as historic as the mansion itself. They go inside and Steve immediately peruses the supplies while Bucky and Logan stand in awe at the gorgeous botanical display. Not one of the men has any gardening experience whatsoever, but Steve excels at reading labels. He locates a shelf with plant food and selects the simplest concoction. Noting their expressions of concern, he attempts to assuage their fears. "This won’t hurt them, fellas. It’s mostly potassium. _Add water, give to plants._ We can do that. Okay?”

 

His companions approve and they swiftly return to the plants. Within moments, they administer droplets to each one of the saplings. Steve counts fourteen of them.

 

 _Nocturnal gardening?_ Zaara’s voice rings in Bucky’s head. _Really?_

 

 _Have to, doll,_ Bucky replies. _If you could hear them, you wouldn’t be able to leave them hungry either._

_Fine. I will see you in the morning—unless you need to join us tonight._

Recalling the hot passion flowing through their tether only a short while ago, he blushes. _I think I’ll skip it,_ he tells her with chagrin.

 

She takes it in stride. _Bucky, I’m so sorry you had that nightmare. It was all my fault._

_No. No, it wasn’t. I won’t let you blame yourself. You’ve done so much for me—more than words can say._

_Still—I’m sorry. It shouldn’t have happened. Can we talk about it tomorrow?_

_Whatever you want, doll._

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

“Bucky.”

 

The former Winter Soldier gives her a small smile and strokes her hand in reply. They’ve decided to take a stroll across the grounds to relax. Steve generously allowed them this time together since Zaara wants to get back on track with Bucky’s healing. But first, she feels compelled to make certain he has fully recovered from their dizzying mission. Ever since Asgard, it’s been a real rollercoaster ride. Traveling to Canada, California, and Scotland—not to mention taking on the Wolverine as a roommate and helping the Professor recover—has left her with precious little energy. _Poor Bucky. He still has those damn words in his head. Four left, out of ten. Not far to go. Maybe the Professor will help with the last bit when he’s ready._

 

 _You’ve done great, doll,_ Bucky tells her in his head. _Don’t worry your head about it._

 

“You’re too kind.” She cannot hold his gaze. Those piercing blue eyes adore her and it is too much. Shaking herself free, she faces him fully. “This has been taking too long. We need to get rid of the last four words. And I ought to do a deep reading on you. I’ve put it off too long.”

 

“A deep reading?” he echoes, uncertain.

 

“I did one on Steve, back in Wakanda,” she explains gently, not wanting to alarm him. “Before we woke you up from the ice. It was by accident. You know I can’t normally read him, but I found a way inside by touching him. I didn’t mean for it to go so deep, but it showed me what I needed.”

 

“So you looked inside him, did you?” Bucky gives a half-grin. “Then you know what a punk he is—and you still date him anyways.”

 

She blushes. “I saw everything,” she admits, letting him take both her hands in his. It is as if Bucky cannot relinquish holding her, both mentally and physically. “His whole history, everything about him. And I also saw the way he feels about _you._ ”

 

Bucky shakes his head, as if he would banish all knowledge of it from his mind. “He was always too dumb to run away from a fight.”

 

“I know,” she agrees. “But it showed me I could trust him. And I think I should do a deep reading on you, too; sort through your memories and experiences. Maybe I can figure out what’s causing these flashbacks and that awful nightmare. Hydra put those words into you. I’ve seen what they’ve done, but we need to dig deeper. Most soldiers have post-traumatic responses after wartime. But Bucky, yours go beyond that. Usually, I can ward them off, but I saw a bit of the one from last night—and it was ugly. You’ve suffered enough.”

 

“Deeper,” he muses, not sure if he likes it. “I’d rather not. I’d rather just forget it all.”

 

“I know,” she continues apologetically. “But it’s gotten bad, my Hunka-hunka burnin’ love. You had another flashback when I was doing ballet yesterday. Don’t think I didn’t notice. It was the same one you had in Wakanda; blue feathers and pointe shoes. We haven’t had a chance to explore that yet, either. My mission’s done now. I’m not going anywhere, not with this baby coming. That means I can finally focus on _you._ And it’s about time.”

 

“Aw, doll.” He gives a small but involuntary groan, as if he is weary of himself. “You don’t wanna go into my mind. It’s an ugly place. You’ve kept the nightmares away for months now—all except one. Not a bad record.”

 

Releasing his hands, she steps closer and embraces him. “You deserve help, Bucky. And . . . there’s another problem we haven’t discussed yet.” They stand in silence for a while. He holds her, stroking the small of her back with his flesh hand. It takes a while for him to acknowledge it. Eventually, he confesses. _I know._

 

 _Don’t worry,_ she tells him, holding his prosthetic hand and bringing it to her breast. He forms a fist and she kisses it. Pressing her face into his chest, she finds relief from the direct eye contact that plays with her heart _. After that nightmare last night, I figured it out. You’ve seen us. You’ve seen Steve and I . . . together. I’m so sorry about that. I didn’t mean for it to happen. But it’s not why I want to heal you. I’m in no hurry to get rid of our tether. I just want to do what’s best for you._ Her face blushes hot despite her determination not to feel ashamed. “I understand if you want me to cut the apron strings sooner rather than later. I don’t know what it’s been like for you since Steve and I . . . I haven’t seen.” _I haven’t wanted to see,_ she clarifies, but only to herself.

 

Bucky clears his throat. “Haven’t seen?”

 

At this, she delves into his mind. A maelstrom of desire hits her hard, plunges deep down into the her belly like a swarm of butterflies flittering, teasing, and enticing her. All at once, she realizes what Bucky’s been doing with himself, how he responds each and every time she makes love to his best friend. It bowls her over, makes her weak in the knees to realize he’s been her captive audience the whole time. To know that he touches himself whenever Steve touches her makes her tremble with longing. To accept that he rides every wave of her ecstasy at the very same moment she does herself makes her quiver with unexpected need. It is not so much the shock of having her new, private pleasure become _his_ ; it is the thunderbolt of arousal that accompanies it. Bucky has to catch her by her elbows lest she collapse upon the ground. “Whoa, doll,” he breathes into her ear. “I got you.”

 

“Bucky,” she gasps, finally facing him. Love and waves of desire flash in his eyes. He can hide it no longer.

 

“I’m sorry doll,” he apologizes. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“Don’t be, Bucky,” she sobs. Gripping him tighter, she weeps into his chest. “I love you. I’m the one who should be sorry. I’ve let you down. I’ve let Steve down.”

 

“No. No you haven’t.” He holds her up, supports her body, and brings her face to his. “It’s gonna be okay. It really is. I, uh, just thought you’d bothered by me lookin’ in. Steve’s gotta be bothered by it, too. I know I’d be.”

 

“He doesn’t know,” she admits, feeling like a traitor. _How can I love them both? How can I want them both? Is this what Freia meant?_ It’s unbearable and she thinks to run away, but Bucky grips her even tighter.

 

“You’ve gotta tell him,” he says softly. Inexorably. “Unless you cut me off, this is only gonna get worse. You gotta get rid of the tether. It ain’t fair to him. You’re his girl. Not mine.”

 

“I can’t, Bucky,” she shakes her head sadly. “I won’t abandon you.”

 

“It can’t go on like this, doll,” he protests while his body screams otherwise. “Steve’s my best friend.”

 

“I know,” she agrees, tortured. To be so close to Bucky, to have him hold her like this, blue eyes shining into hers, lips swollen so close to his peppered stubble she can almost taste him, undoes her. “Just give me a little more time. Steve’ll understand. This is no one’s fault. You need help and he needs to be with me at the same time. God, I’m so stupid, I should have known this would happen. But with the mission and everything . . . It was too much. And now the baby . . .”

 

He winces but stands tall. “You’re not stupid. You’re one hell of a dame. You’re loving and kind. Everybody needs you. You give it your all even though you got a baby comin’ and you gotta be a mama to those kids—and you’re a fantastic mama, by the way. Why bother with me? Get rid of those words, sure. But save my nightmares for later. Maybe the Professor can deal with 'em, when he’s ready.” _I better talk to Steve soon._ _He deserves to know the truth, doll._

 

“Maybe,” she sighs reluctantly. Her tears have stopped and Bucky uses the back of his flesh hand to wipe them from her cheek, restraining himself from using his mouth to do the job. She catches the thought anyways and abruptly shifts the conversation. “I saw that flashback you had in the studio yesterday.”

 

“Yeah,” he acknowledges, stubborn. “There was that.”

 

“Blue feathers again,” she points out, glad to have something else to think about for a moment. It is still too much to imagine Bucky having a link to her intimacy with Steve. With a sudden resolve, she shakes it off. “We’re going to get to the bottom of this. Today. I swear.”

 

They spend the rest of their time perusing the small saplings together, fascinated by the marvelous life forms Zaara apparently brought into the world with the help of a giant space alien tree. _It’s not like the Xaviar School isn’t used to strange life forms,_ she tells herself. But she really cannot feel angry about it anymore. Indeed, the creatures are rather adorable in daylight, and behave much like babies even if they are only saplings stuck in soil. They sway back and forth, tease one another, and she swears she can even make out tiny faces on them. She cannot reject them in any case and decides to establish a feeding schedule for them. Having no idea whether they will ever detach themselves from the earth and walk upon its surface the way their space alien sire (or dam) did, she and Bucky lavish attention upon them. They respond happily to gentle voices and fingers stroking their bark up and down. The way Bucky cares for them reminds her of the way he cares for Ellie. They decide to erect a deer fence around them to protect them.

 

After a while, Steve comes by. It is time for Bucky’s session. The three of them head inside together.

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Bucky gingerly reclines upon the long leather chaise in Professor Xaviar’s office. A cool spring breeze blows through the open windows and caresses his cheek, as if it would comfort him. It is the cusp of summer and Zaara marvels at how the three of them have been living like a family for the entire spring. _We are a family now,_ she tells herself. The intimacy of the tether only makes it more so. _But what kind of family?_ Once again, she banishes Asgard from her mind, unwilling to allow the mystery of Freia’s garden into her own affairs—even if she may be partly responsible for the sentient baby trees out in the school garden. If her mutation has made her into a Freia maiden, she has chosen not to live as one. It’s uncertain how a Freia maiden is supposed to conduct herself away from the sacred garden, anyhow. Moreover, she has a brainwashed supersoldier to heal. She could wait until the Professor is able to assist her, but the urgency of Bucky’s nightmare and the strange flashback make her reluctant to delay any longer. “Bucky, are you ready?”

 

“Ready as I’ll ever be, doll,” he smiles. His face glows with trust and adoration. _I’m all yours. I always am._

 

“You ready, Sam?” She glances over at the Falcon.

 

Sam nods. He stands by Steve who is careful to give Zaara a wide berth. He is only here to observe and offer support. Zaara will not allow the triplet telepaths to witness this particular job for they are too young to be privy to the damaged mind of the former Winter Soldier. However, being both a vet and a counselor specializing in post-traumatic responses, Sam could prove to be of some assistance.

 

“We have lots of work to do,” Zaara soberly declares. “Last night, Bucky had a nightmare and it was a doozy. We have four words left and a funny sort of flashback that comes when he sees me doing ballet.”

 

“I get ballet flashbacks, too.” Falcon shakes his head. “Men in tights. It’s awful.”

 

Steve can’t suppress a chuckle. “I get nightmares about tights myself.”

 

Zaara ignores them both. “I’m not as worried about the flashback,” she confesses. “It’s odd, but it doesn’t seem to be violent or disturbing. That nightmare is another thing. So let’s focus on that. One at a time.”

 

“It wasn’t a just dream,” Bucky says softly. “It was a memory. It was real; it happened.”

 

“Then show me,” she says. “But I’m going to patch Sam in. Is that alright?”

 

“Sure,” he replies hesitantly. “If you think it best.”

 

“I do.” She meets Sam’s gaze. The Falcon nods his consent. “Alright. Here we go.” Steve quietly takes a chair in the corner of the study, wanting to grant the telepaths their space. Sam pulls up a stool and seats himself close to Zaara’s side as she rests her fingers upon Bucky’s brow. The former Winter Soldier closes his eyes and tries to relax, but all too soon, his face contorts with anguish. To his dismay, Steve detects the same expression on Zaara’s face. He braces himself. _Whatever the hell they’re looking at, it hurts._

 

After a while, Sam frowns and crosses his arms. “I think that’s enough,” he says quietly.

 

Zaara agrees. She opens her eyes. “That was rough, Bucky. Just because you’re a man doesn’t mean it wasn’t a violation.” She checks in with Sam. Bucky still hasn’t opened his eyes.

 

Steve cringes. _Violation?_

 

“It was Hydra. All Hydra,” Zaara intones.

 

“Can you wipe it from my mind?” Bucky begs.

 

“No,” she says quickly. “You have to feel your feelings in order to heal. There’s no way around it.”

 

“And that’s only the tip of the iceberg,” Sam adds. “Dude led a whole different life out there. For years. He _wasn’t_ Bucky Barnes. He was that Soldier.”

 

“It’s a paradox,” Zaara murmurs, still sorting it out. Addressing Steve, she sighs. “I’m not certain whether I should do a deep reading on him today. We have more than enough to work with right now. Maybe we should wait for the Professor. It was years, Bucky. Years with Hydra, and everything they did to you. Still . . .”

 

“What?” the former Winter Soldier asks, full of dread.

 

Zaara massages his brow with her fingers. “It’s okay. I have a strong sense that this was the only non-consensual encounter of this sort. In fact, you ended up having relationship with her for some years. It was strange and messed-up, but it was a relationship. It was mutual. We can explore that, too. This first time seemed to be the only violation, I’m pretty sure of it.”

 

“What the hell happened to him?” Steve asks, his throat dry. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but . . .”

 

“Natasha.” Bucky sits up abruptly and Zaara lets her hands fall away. “I had a relationship with Natasha Romanov. Hydra forced it on us.”

 

 _“Natasha?”_ Steve recoils in horror.

 

“It wasn’t forced the whole time. Only initially,” Zaara clarifies. “Steve—you heard about some of the things they did to her in that Red Room. It’s not so different from what Bucky went through. Hold on a sec . . .” She seats herself on the chaise, close to Bucky's side. “May I double check so we know for certain?” She asks his permission to give him a sense of control.

 

“Okay,” he reluctantly agrees. “I just . . . I’m confused.”

 

“I know,” she breathes, tenderly brushing a lock of hair from his brow. “Let’s just get through this one thing and then we can stop. You had a nightmare and we need to come to grips with what actually happened.” Placing her fingers back upon his temples, she concentrates while Sam scratches the back of his neck uneasily. “There,” she finally whispers, satisfied, and drops her hands away. But Bucky seizes her hands in his own, squeezing tight.

 

“Tell me the truth, doll.”

 

“It was only Natasha. No one else. And it wasn’t her fault—or yours.”

 

“’Course it wasn’t her fault,” Bucky says softly while Steve cradles his head in his hands, full of grief.

 

“What did she do to you?” Steve asks, gritting his teeth.

 

“Bucky had a nightmare about their past,” Zaara explains while she gently strokes his hands, both flesh and metal. “Hydra wanted him to . . . to sleep with her. Toughen her up. Train her in detachment. It was a messed-up psychological exercise. They wanted her to be able to use her body like a weapon—”

 

“I get it,” Steve says wearily. “But what about Bucky?”

 

“It violated him,” Zaara continues sadly. “They forced him to do it. They chose him because . . . because he didn’t _want_ to. Of course any Hydra thug could have done the job but . . .” Zaara winces. “They wanted him to be _cold._ Disinterested. So, they chose Bucky and treated him like a robot. They ordered him to . . . to have sex. Natasha seemed prepared, I suppose; she handled it better than he did—as far as I can tell. But then, I’ve never met her before so I can’t really say for certain. At the end of the day, it was not the sort of thing Bucky Barnes would ever choose to do. He’s not that kind of man. Of course the real Bucky was never in control. But he was present. He experienced all of it. He hated having anything like this forced on him. And he would _never_ force himself on a woman.”

 

Bucky cringes and Zaara wraps her arms around him. _You know exactly how I feel doll. You know what I am._

_You are not a monster. You are our friend, Bucky Barnes, and you are a good man. A strong man. They hurt you and they used you to hurt others. None of that’s your fault. You weren’t in control. They used you and abused you and now you are finally getting a chance to heal. We all love you. You are not alone anymore. You belong with us and it’s okay to hurt. I’ve got you._

 

Steve swallows the lump in his throat as the woman he loves comforts his best friend in the world. Rage burns deep in his gut, and his heart weeps to know things were even worse than he imagined.

 

With his head upon her shoulder, Zaara continues the strange tale, addressing Steve more than Sam who already saw what happened. “So, over time, the Winter Soldier and the Black Window ended up in a relationship. It was bizarre and unexpected; two assassins in love. They cared for each other, looked out for each other, but it wasn’t exactly healthy. They used each other in some ways and at times, Hydra used them against each other, too. They tried to keep things hidden, but of course Hydra figured it out. They used Bucky to train Natasha in combat and sent them out on missions together. In the end, he saved her life a few times and made the mistake of giving a damn—and I suspect that was Bucky Barnes more than the Winter Soldier. After that happened, Hydra stopped using the Winter Soldier in that capacity and put him back on ice. Natasha never saw him again—until she was with you in D.C.”

 

“So, Natasha was the one I . . . ” Bucky cannot complete the sentence. Steve cringes, recalling the scar on the Black Widow’s torso.

 

“The one you _cared_ for,” Zaara says for him. “The _only_ one you touched. It wasn’t your choice—not initially. But they never could erase Bucky Barnes. He’s a hero. He saved her life, made the best of an awful situation. He even built what relationship he could with her, whatever he could patch together under the circumstances.” She doesn’t add that she could sense a motivation behind it—that through the persona of the Winter Soldier, some part of Bucky Barnes sought Natasha’s forgiveness.

 

"I can never forgive myself." Bucky's expression is bleak.

 

“You need to, man.” Sam pipes up solemnly.

 

“He’s right,” Steve agrees, vowing to call Natasha soon.

 

“I’m sure she’s forgiven you,” Zaara adds. “She’s tried to make up for all the harm she’s done by joining Shield and the Avengers. She even helped Steve save your life in Leipzig. Your relationship wasn’t all bad. And Bucky,” she adds, a new idea occurring to her. “Maybe, just maybe, what you did for Natasha planted a seed of humanity in a life where all she’d been given was horror. Maybe it led her to choose a new path. You were probably the only _good_ thing in her life until then, the only one who cared about her, who treated her something like a human being. The awful way it began wasn’t your fault.”

 

“But I did it.” Bucky sounds miserable. “It was _me. My_ body.”

 

Zaara could cry. Knowing Bucky Barnes to be the sort of man who only wanted to love a girl he intended to marry makes this violation even worse. And to have Bucky blame himself for it leaves her furious. Anger wins out over sadness and she summons all her rage against Hydra. “How many times do I have to tell you, Bucky? When it came to the Winter Soldier, there was no _me.”_ She throws her arms around him though his expression does not change. Steve’s heart breaks, torn apart by dread, pity, and outrage.

 

“She’s right,” Sam adds compassionately. “You were brainwashed, my friend. It happens. You were one of the worst cases the world has ever known. Sexual abuse is real, by the way—even for men. It doesn’t only happen to women. On top of it all, you were a POW. It’s a long road and it ain’t easy, but we’re just getting started. It gets better. Trust me.”

 

“Thank you, Sam.” Zaara fights back her tears and strokes Bucky’s cheeks. “He’ll come to understand. Eventually. And we’ll get him help—we’ll find a professional who specializes in this sort of thing.”

 

“I hope so.” Steve gets up and joins them on the chaise, taking a seat next to Bucky. He puts his arm around his best friend who is too numb to know his grief in full. He can only sit and feel Zaara’s warmth on his right and Steve’s on his left—the two people who love him most in the world.

 

“Ellie,” Zaara smiles through her tears. “Ellie loves you, too, Bucky. You need Ellie hugs. It’s powerful medicine.” Steve stares at her, blinking back his own veil of tears. _She’s right._

 

Sam rises and, with a nod to Zaara, leaves the three of them alone. Zaara and Steve remain, holding Bucky who sits so still it seems like he's gone back in the ice again. After a while, his body begins to wrack with slow, silent sobs. “Bucky,” Zaara whispers. “I know you had girlfriends before the war, but this . . . this was your first time being completely intimate with a woman. Steve should know that, too. You fellas grew up in a time when that sort of thing meant a great deal to people. In those days, intimacy was supposed to come only with love and marriage. It was a life-long commitment. And that was denied you.”

 

Bucky swallows and stops breathing for a moment, forcing his body to still again.

 

“What you feel—it’s completely okay. Intimate love _should_ matter to a man, even today. I know your heart Bucky. You believe what you did should only be done with love, and you weren’t given that. It was denied you.”

 

Stoic as always, Bucky cannot prevent a single tear from falling. Zaara grabs a tissue and tenderly dabs at his cheek. “I want to see Ellie,” he murmurs. It is the only sound he makes.

 

“I think that’s a great idea,” she agrees, kissing him reverently while Steve watches, his heart burning for the love she gives his best friend. A rush of gratitude overwhelms him. _She’s my girl. And Bucky can finally deal with the mess Hydra made. This is where I belong. This is my home—with both of them._

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

“I still feel awful,” Bucky confesses to Steve later. For once, the children play quietly on their own while Zaara indulges in a nap before dinner. “No matter how much you blame Hydra, I did it to her.”

 

“Buck,” Steve demurs, wanting so badly to take away his shame. “I know if I were in your shoes, I’d feel just the same as you. A man doesn't do those things to a woman--not a real man." Bucky cannot help but shudder. Dauntless, Steve continues. “Natasha’s a good friend of mine. She’s one tough dame. I don’t think she holds you responsible. She knows it was all Hydra.”

 

“I never thought I’d be the sort of man who could . . . Who was capable of doing that to a woman,” he grimaces. “I can never forget it. I can never forgive myself.”

 

“Maybe not,” Steve submits. He won’t argue with him. Though he agrees with Zaara that there was no “I” when Bucky lived under Hydra, a wise part of him knows he can offer his friend a unique sort of solace and understanding, even if they do not share a tether. “Buck, we’re two peas in a pod. I know I’d feel the same way if I were you. And you’d be telling me it wasn’t my fault, like I’m telling you now.”

 

At this, Bucky cracks a small grin. “S’pose you’re right.”

 

“I am.” Steve permits himself the tiniest smirk. “We’ll get past it. I know we will. Maybe you can talk to Natasha someday. I’m sure she’ll forgive you.”

 

Bucky seems forlorn. “Maybe. I don’t know if a woman could ever forgive a man for the kind of thing I did.”

 

“Zaara seems to think so. You were forced into it—both of you. It was all Hydra. But you’re a better man for caring. That’s all. I’d be worried if you didn’t.” And with that, he squeezes his shoulder, stopping just short of a hug.

 

“Bucky!” Ellie gives one of her customary shrieks and runs into the room. “You’re sad! You need love. Let’s play mermaids! You’ll feel better.”

 

“You bet, sunshine. Come here." The former Winter Soldier swoops the tousled haired girl up into his arms. Steve watches them go, a smile brightening his face.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

When everyone has gone to bed, Zaara closes her door rather deliberately. Steve’s pupils widen in anticipation, but before she can succumb to the blissful oblivion of his embrace, she makes ready to speak the truth—in every way. Taking a seat on the edge of the bed just out of his reach, she holds her hand up before she begins. “Steve, I wanted you to know that what you said to Bucky earlier was so . . . so loving.” She struggles to find the right words, but she means them with all her heart. “You did something for him that I can’t. You understand him in a way I never will.”

 

His smile agrees with her, though he is far too humble to admit it out loud. Steve glances down at the floor. “I just want him to get better. That’s all.” But he brings his gaze back to her with such yearning it makes her tremble.

 

“He will. She offers him her assurance, refusing to surrender to the way her body longs for him. It is so difficult to refrain from touching him whenever they are alone and she’s thankful for the small distance between them. It’s the only thing allowing her to say her peace. She concentrates. “He’s lucky to have you. I’d hate to think of him going through this alone. Even with all my help, it wouldn’t be right without you. You’re like brothers, maybe even closer.”

 

Steve has had enough. Swiftly, he eliminates the space between them and seizes her into his embrace. Holding her tight, he rocks her body back and forth, grieving for his friend and for everything he has gone through. Zaara poses no resistance. _You never deserved this, Buck. Why couldn’t I save you?_

 

“Steve?” The sound of her voice interrupts his lonely thoughts.

 

“Yes?” he replies, stroking her hair with his broad fingers, losing himself in her silken tresses. Zaara always smells so good and he snuggles closer, trying to squish her still-flat belly into his own, longing to feel something of their baby who is not only a reason for hope, but a promise of new life and love.

 

“Steve, I have something to tell you. Something you’re not going to like.” Zaara braces herself and continues, trying to ignore the way her body yearns for him. _I’ve got to tell him. Now. Or he’ll never forgive me._

 

“What is it?” he asks, cringing despite the joy of having her in his arms. In truth, it has been a rough day.

 

“I wanted to wait,” she continues cautiously. “But I know you’d be angry if I didn’t tell you right away. I just found this out today and I don’t want to keep it from you. It’s like the way you came clean about your meeting with Wanda. I hope you’ll understand.”

 

“What is it?” he repeats, feeling worse. _What the hell is she talking about?_

 

“Please,” she begs. “It’s not anything terrible, I promise. It’s just . . . awkward. _Very_ awkward. You’ll hate it. It’ll make you really uncomfortable and I am praying you’ll understand. I’ve made a bad mistake and I’m afraid it’s going to hurt you.”

 

“Will it hurt anyone else?” he asks, dreading the answer.

 

“No,” she vows. “But it will hurt you. And us.”

 

“I love you, sweetheart,” he declares stubbornly, though by now he’s clearly worried. “Nothing you can say will ever change that. So, whatever it is doesn’t matter. We’ve got too much going on to get bogged down in details. Out with it.”

 

“Okay,” she breathes, a blush seeping down her cheeks. “What you need to know is . . . Bucky can read what goes on between us at night. When we . . . when we’re . . . together.”

 

“What do you mean?” Steve bristles, cheeks reddening like her own. _Say it ain’t so._ “You can’t—”

 

“It’s the tether,” she persists, blushing even deeper. “If you want me to keep our tether, if you still want me to protect Bucky from nightmares, keep him safe from Hydra, then he’ll also have a link when we . . .”

 

“. . . When we make love,” Steve finishes, horrified. This is the last thing he wanted to hear and not anything he ever imagined—and the twenty-first century has exposed him to a great many things he never imagined: space aliens, mutants, killer robots, cell phones, the internet, social media, gender-bending teens, clingy clothes, clothes with holes in them, tattoos on women, body piercings, blue hair, pink hair—the list goes on and on. Shameless self-exposure seems to be the order of the day, but this takes the cake. _Bucky can see when I make love to Zaara. He knows. He can feel, he can sense . . . everything. My God._ His face turns beet red.

 

“Steve.” Zaara’s voice falters, knowing his modesty all too well. “I’m so, so sorry about this. I don’t know what to do. All I know is that I love you. And I care about Bucky. I want so badly to help him.”

 

“Me, too.” Steve speaks in a whisper, despondent. She wraps her arms around him even tighter.

 

“You’re friends,” she murmurs, stroking his cheek to assuage him. Her touch, from Steve’s perspective, is always more sensual than anything else. But it doesn’t matter right now. Right now, he is numb. “You can understand each other, forgive each other—in time. This is intimate. It’s personal. And it’s no one’s fault. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

 

“What does he . . . what does he do when we . . .?” Steve cannot bring himself to finish the question.

 

“I don’t know.” Her answer is by necessity blunt. “Unless you want me to _think_ about him when we’re . . . when I’m touching _you_ , I won’t know. When I’m touching you . . .” She gives a small tremble. “I’m not thinking of anyone else.”

 

Slowly, it starts to sink in. _At least she’s thinking of me at those times and not him._ He sighs wearily. “Makes sense, I guess.”

 

“Does it?”

 

“It does.” He scratches his chin, but it does nothing to take away the blush on his cheeks. “I still don’t like it.” He flounders. _What the hell do we do now?_ “I can’t think about it too much. You know, when Buck and I grew up, life was so different . . .”

 

“It was.” She agrees with him wholeheartedly and plants a tiny kiss on his cheek. Compassion is the only way she can respond. “I want our privacy to be just that—private. As much as you do.” She lets him hold her silently for a while and they breathe together, struggling to find a way through it all. Though they’ve both had a bit of shock, it brings her to a sudden revelation. “Steve . . .” she begins gingerly, furrowing her brow at this strange, new idea. “Aren’t you glad it’s Bucky?”

 

 _“Glad?”_ He finds it baffling, doesn’t know how to respond. “I’m glad you’re healing him, if that’s what you mean. I’m not glad about _this._ ”

 

“I mean,” she stumbles, slowly pulling her thoughts together for she’s never dreamed of having an uninvited guest watch her during her most private and intimate moments. “Aren’t you glad that of all people, it’s your best friend? You saved him, he’s saved you. I’m healing him. We’re all connected. We trust each other. If _someone_ has to see what goes on behind our bedroom door, then I’m glad it’s Bucky. I’d rather have him than anyone else. He _understands._ He cares about both of us. And he’s really worried about how you’ll take the news, by the way _._ He’s as embarrassed as we are. You know he has a great heart. He hates to be in this position. But we’re all adults and he told me he’s willing to do whatever needs to be done to deal with this, to make it better. That’s all.”

 

Steve stares hard at her. She shivers, detecting a moment of suspicion on his face. In fact, she’s come to rely upon his facial expressions since his thoughts are mostly out of her reach—except when they are of a sensual nature. “Steve?”

 

“That’s a funny way to look at it,” he sighs, still pondering. Suddenly, he relents. “I guess you’re right. We’ve been through a hell of a lot worse. This is just a strange situation. And it’s only between the three of us. Isn’t it?”

 

“This house is full of strange. I warned you about that long ago.” She gives a sad snort, searching for her sense of humour.

 

“Well, it still feels wrong. It’s not anything I’d ever choose to happen, but this is the life we’ve been given.” Steve sounds determined, the Captain once more. “We’ve dealt with bigger problems and we can deal with this. I bet we can fix it.”

 

She steels herself. “But Steve, what if we can’t? What if this is the way it’s got to be? If you feel Bucky and I should stay tethered, then this problem won't go away on its own. And our private time won’t be very private for a while.”

 

“Can’t you do anything?” Steve finds himself pleading. “Block him out; cut the tether at night? What about the Professor—can’t he do something?”

 

“I can’t sever the tether every single night,” she sighs woefully. “It’s not like opening and closing a door. You can’t just establish a tether and cut it off on a daily basis. It could be harmful to both of us. Sure, I’ve cut Bucky off when the need arises, but there’s always been someone else to tether him to, like Rogue. But she can’t keep him safe or protect him the way I can—and I don’t think we can ask someone else to do this night after night after night. Only the Professor can help, and he’s not well enough yet.”

 

Steve receives her answer with a pained silence.

 

“I think we’re stuck,” she finally admits, lips brushing against his ear as if it could soften the blow. “I can’t block Bucky out and keep him safe at the same time, so unless you want me to stop being intimate with you, this is how it’s gonna be _._ ”

 

Steve’s hand, which rests upon her thigh, grips her tight. After the last two weeks, he knows there is no way he can ever go back. He can never sacrifice what he has with Zaara—no matter how much it embarrasses him to have Bucky watch them in private. He’s waited for a love like this all his life and he can’t let that go. His bottom lip trembles at the admission. “I can’t give you up, Zaara. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

 

“I know,” she coos, holding him tighter. “I know, my love. I’d hate it if you did. I never want to give you up, either.”

 

“Keep the tether the way it is—if Bucky can put up with us. I’m sure it can’t be easy for him.” Steve struggles to get over himself. “Get those last words out of his head, get rid of those flashbacks and nightmares so he can heal. Then we’ll see. Who knows? Maybe the Professor will be able to help in another month or so.” He kisses her again, resigned and oddly relieved. _It’s settled._

 

She gives a small smile. “Maybe. That would be ideal. I feel awful about this too, you know. It’s so embarrassing. For you, and for Bucky. And for me.” She can’t stop blushing.

 

“Of course it is, darling.” His heart immediately aches for he realizes now he’s failed to put her first. He leans closer and kisses her fully on the mouth, giving in to his passion. But he comes to an abrupt stop, wondering if Bucky felt that, too. Stroking her hair with his huge hand, he kisses her again anyways. “You deserve privacy even more than I do, sweetheart. I can’t imagine how hard this must be on you.”

_It should be harder than it is,_ she thinks, kissing him back. _And it would be if it made me sick to my stomach. But it doesn’t. It’s embarrassing to have Bucky see us of course but God help me, there’s something exciting about it, too . . ._ She sighs and continues kissing Steve until warmth coils deep down inside her. But her newly awakened consciousness interrupts her reverie. _It’s Bucky. He’s watching._ Before she can stop herself, she envisions his glittering blue eyes, dark stubble peppering his jaw, hard ridges of muscle, skin pale and body just a touch shorter than Steve’s, broad and thick. She remembers him declaring his slavish devotion to her time after time and shivers with need. To know that he feels every kiss, every caress when Steve touches her makes her feel like some wanton creature. _Steve must never know I feel this way._ _He’d be so hurt. I can’t believe it . . . Bucky . . . Something in me wants him, too—the way I want Steve. It’s a betrayal. I love Steve so much. But I love Bucky, too. The poor guy’s been through hell. Steve would do anything for him . . . And so would I._

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

“Hey, punk.” The former Winter Soldier approaches his best friend with caution. Steve is having a rare, quiet moment to himself in the garden. Zaara sent him outside so the two of them could have some time alone. Bucky doesn’t begrudge it. He knows they need to talk. But when he nears Steve, he reddens to see the expression on the man’s face.

 

“Sit down, Buck.” Steve adjusts his seat on the chaise next to him and fixes his eyes upon the ground. “I want you to know, uh, well . . . We both know you’ve been through a lot.”

 

“I’m feeling better,” Bucky offers, and it is the truth. He loves this garden. Birds always seem to sing here and he wonders absently if they could be nightingales since by now it is fairly dark. It is something he would like to learn more about. The only birds he’d ever heard back in Brooklyn were pigeons, and they would only coo. Birds never sang during the war and he never heard them on any Hydra mission. Never having lived in a place where birds sang, it makes him wonder. “Maybe the worst is over.”

 

“Maybe,” Steve agrees heartily, and it takes the edge off his embarrassment. “A man can hope.”

 

“What gives, pal?” Bucky asks sincerely, grasping Steve by the arm. “You look rough.”

 

Steve cannot meet his eyes. “Zaara told me,” he says softly.

 

 _Told you what?_ Immediately, Bucky blushes. _The truth. Of course._ A long silence ensues. Bucky breaks it, sounding more confident than he feels. “Good. ‘Cause otherwise, I was gonna tell you myself. You needed to know the truth."

 

“How long . . . How long has it been going on?” Steve’s voice goes hoarse.

 

Bucky swallows, his confidence diminishing. “Since the beginning.”

 

“Oh.” Steve rubs his brow, still unable to look him in the eye. “When did you plan on telling us?”

 

“I just did,” he murmurs in dismay. “There’s been a lot goin’ on and I, uh . . .” He resorts to an old saying. “I didn’t wanna rain on your parade.”

 

“Rain on my parade?” Steve is incredulous. “You didn’t rain on my parade, Buck. You’ve been _watchin’_ my parade.”

 

Biting his lip, Bucky presses on because he has no other choice. “Look, pal. I know you’ve been real happy with the way things are going with Zaara and I hated to barge in on that. So much has been happenin’; fetching Howlett, finding out about the baby, bringin’ back the Professor—it never seemed to be the right time. Now that we got settled in, I knew you’d want to know. I’m sorry,” he adds. “I shoulda told you first thing, I guess. I dunno. I never dealt with a problem like this before.” Bucky gazes at him imploringly.

 

Remembering their session, the nightmare and abuse it revealed, Steve sighs with compassion and plants his hand on his shoulder. “No. No, you haven’t. None of us has. Zaara didn’t know this was happening ‘til now, though I think she suspected something when you had that nightmare. She . . . She wasn’t able to stop it from coming because she was distracted by _me._ The whole thing’s awkward as hell. You did the best you can. I know it’s been hard on you, Buck. But you haven’t ruined anything.”

 

This time, it is Bucky who looks away. _It hasn’t been hard on me, Steve. That’s not the way I’d describe it—not at all._ “Look, pal. I don’t know what to say. She’s your girl. You love her like crazy. You deserve your privacy. I’m so sorry.”

 

“You’re sorry,” Steve repeats numbly.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky shrugs, ashamed. There’s not much more he can offer. “I’m sorry. Sorry for _all_ of it. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

 

“Neither did she,” Steve adds, full of regret.

 

“Right. Zaara’s sorry, I’m sorry. We’re all sorry. It’s wrong. It should never have happened. Any idea how we’re gonna fix it?”

 

“Cure you,” he offers bluntly, finally looking his best friend in the eye. “I don’t want her to cut your tether. Not yet. You deserve a chance to get better and she agrees with me. But she’s willing to let the Professor help out as soon as he’s able. Maybe you can be tethered to him in a few weeks.” Bucky remains silent. Finally, Steve adds another thought. “Buck—I want you to know that I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry you have to go through this. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. This can’t be easy on you, on top of everything else.”

 

“Man, I don’t know what to say,” Bucky groans. “It’s so hard to talk about it.”

 

“It is. But that’s alright,” Steve reassures him, and, oddly enough, his offer of support makes him feel a bit better. “You don’t have to. Not anymore. I think we’ve said enough.” This is without doubt the most awkward conversation the two of them have ever shared in their lives. Steve reaches out again. “And Buck, I’d like to know if there’s anything I can do to make things easier for you. You know you can ask me anything.”

 

“Aw, cut it out, Steve,” Bucky groans. “Stop thinking about everyone else. This is the girl you love. Some other guy gets to see what’s been goin’ on between the two o’ you _in private_. That’s gotta hurt. I know I wouldn’t be happy about it. If it wasn’t a safety issue with all these kids livin’ here in the mansion, I’d make her cut the cord and deal with the nightmares by myself. It just ain’t worth it.”

 

“ _You’re_ worth it,” Steve disagrees, putting his embarrassment behind him for good. “I trust you, Buck. You know, Zaara had a funny thought about all this.”

 

“Did she?” Bucky sounds bitter. His friend has always been something of a martyr and he cannot bear it any longer. Steve’s finally been given all the things he deserves in his life: a woman he loves, a real home, a family. And now, Bucky is spoiling it for him. _Like a peeping Tom,_ he thinks. _Spying on my best buddy and his girl._

 

Steve snorts. “Yeah. She said that if it had to be somebody seein’ us, she’s glad it’s you. She’d rather have you than anyone else ‘cause she knows you understand. You’re our friend.”

 

At this, Bucky has to smile. “Yeah,” he agrees in his softest voice. “I am.”

 

They leave it at that.

 

Bucky returns to his room knowing that this night he will again experience what goes on behind Zaara and Steve’s closed door. All three of them know it, this time. And amazingly, all three of them accept it and have made their peace with it for as long as it will be necessary. _When the Professor gets well enough, I can be tethered to him instead,_ Bucky tells himself. _It’ll happen—sooner or later._ And he finds himself hoping that it will be later for he’s come to look forward to nighttime. He’s come to enjoy his nocturnal showers; he’s come to relish the intimacy of the tether, all the pleasures given and received, the incredible release it proffers, body and soul, and the fullest, most passionate expression of love he has known in his life.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

When Steve takes her in his arms, he suddenly remembers Bucky.

 

“No, my love,” she whispers, threading her fingers through his hair. “Think of me. Just me. This is for _us. Only_ us.”

 

He smiles and kisses her.

 

Indeed, it’s almost too easy to put it all out of his mind when he is alone with Zaara. But the knowledge that they are being watched keeps hitting him, throws him off balance. Before he knows it, he loses himself again.

 

They end their waking hours with him resting his face upon her belly, kissing skin soft as silk, making his nightly vow of love to the tiny life hidden deep within her, a life he has come to adore and anticipate with so much joy, he can barely conceive it.

 

As always, Zaara listens to his murmurs with a small, sleepy smile.

 

Bucky does the same.

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Days pass and Steve comes to a decision.

 

He cannot believe he’s going to do it but he screws up his courage and takes the delicate, indestructible garment out of its box. The vibranium chainmail tinkles softly, faint echoes of his old shield's whoosh in his ears. _Zaara’s gonna kill me. But I gotta ask her. We’re running out of time._

 

When she walks in the door a few minutes later, she immediately notices the dress fanning out upon the bed. “Steve?”

 

He stays silent, eyes pleading.

 

She gives a stubborn exhale. “I hope you’re asking me to make that into a shield for you. Because I vowed never to wear that damn thing ever again.”

 

His eyes continue to plead.

 

“The answer is no. No. Absolutely not.”

 

Casting his gaze to the floor, Steve waits.

 

Adamant, she refuses again. “Still no. _Never_.”

 

He walks over and slides his arms around her, pressing his lips to her neck. “You’re so beautiful. I only want to draw you . . .” His words dissolve into kisses for a few moments until he speaks again. “ . . . through this whole pregnancy.”

 

“Yes,” she pants, helpless as usual when it comes to his overtures.

 

“And I realized . . .” His voice sounds just above a whisper while he plants even more kisses. “ . . . you won’t be able to fit this much longer . . .”

 

“Rogers, you devil,” she scolds. His eyes always undo her, but this time they form a startling cross between that devastating puppydog expression and a look of sheer lust. She is lost. “How can you ask me to do this?”

 

“I love you,” he replies innocently. “And you looked so beautiful in it.” He falters a moment, then continues. “It’s for our eyes only, sweetheart. I promise. Look, I know I’m being selfish. You can still say no.”

 

“No,” she grunts, but finds herself pulling off her clothes anyways, body aching for him. _God. The man just walks into the room and I’m putty in his hands._

 

“Wait,” he suddenly begs.

 

“What? Why?" she asks, sweet throbbing threatening to overtake her body. It’s a terrible distraction since she’s already slid off her panties and is about to remove her blouse.

 

“Can Bucky see us now?” Steve asks, full of dread.

 

“No,” Zaara shakes her head. “I’ve got him blocked out. We have privacy—for the moment.”

 

Steve nods soberly, his enthusiasm slightly dampened. “Good.” He knows all too well that when they succumb and really start making love, she’ll lose herself and Bucky will be able to see them through her eyes—see everything. Suddenly, he notices Zaara stands half-naked before him.

 

She blushes. “Steve?”

 

His mind back on more important matters, he purrs. “So . . . you gonna put on that dress so I can sketch you?” By now, he’s gotten hard in his pants and, though he loves nothing better than to have Zaara’s unadorned body next to his own, there is something intense and exciting about that slip of a dress sprawled upon their bed, waiting for her.

 

She hesitates, feels his eyes drinking in her body, at least the bottom half which remains unclothed, jeans and panties strewn on the floor. Her blouse is barely long enough to conceal her private parts, making this a rather hot and unexpected prelude for them. Suddenly, she has an overwhelming urge to prolong it. _He’s right—I won’t be able to fit that dress for a long time. And he’s asking so nice. He knows I’d do anything for him. What the hell._ Her voice trembles. “Alright. But only for you.”

 

“Only for me,” Steve repeats, a deep blush crawling down his neck. Watching her turn to face the bed, his eyes take in her round, bare ass while she pulls off her blouse. Unable to resist, he moves in behind her and unclips her bra, kissing her shoulder and letting his rock hardness press against her ass through his jeans, cupping her breasts in his huge hands. She groans.

 

“Mmmm . . .” She closes her eyes. _Feels so good._ But she knows if she drifts any further, her walls will come down and Bucky will be able to see.

 

Steve seems to realize it, too, and takes a step back.

 

She chuckles. “So you’re going to let me put that dress on after all, Captain Bossypants?"

 

“Uh huh.” Steve doesn’t miss a beat as she slides the tight, clinking chainmail down over her head. It’s a little snug and, to his delight, he guesses she’s gained about five pounds since she last wore it. He wholeheartedly approves. _Some weight gain on mama is good for the baby. And it’s sexy as hell,_ he thinks. _The more of her, the better—as far I’m concerned_.

 

Thankfully, the dress still fits, but just barely. Zaara tugs at the bottom, which was short in the first place. Now it sits a good inch or so higher than it did before and is nearly indecent. The sides of her slightly swollen breasts are even more exposed this time around, making the whole look even more risque. _My body’s gotten wider but this damn dress sure hasn’t_ , she notes ruefully _._ Steve appears deeply appreciative and she receives a flash of lust from his mind. “Where do you want me?” she asks in mock innocence.

 

Very quiet all of a sudden, he bites his lip. _Everywhere, sweetheart. I want you all over and everywhere. All of the time,_ he thinks. Finally, he mutters, “On the bed.”

 

Turning back to the bed, she feels the cool metal swish and tinkle against her bare flesh with a surprising erotic rush. _Maybe I’d better pull on a pair of panties. Or, maybe not._ Crawling onto the mattress, she clamps her legs tight in an attempt to appear ladylike, even though Steve has seen everything she has to see and then some. The sheets are neat and tidy for Steve loves making the bed first thing in the morning. He has taken to changing the sheets every other day in addition to that and it makes her feel utterly spoiled, as if she’s living in a hotel. As gracefully as she can, she reclines on her side and stretches her legs, trying not to let her breasts slip out the sides of the priceless dress. “Like this?” she asks earnestly and with a sudden self-consciousness.

 

“Yeah,” he grunts, achingly hard in his pants and thanking heaven that his hands will be busy with pencil and paper for the next little while. “Though I wanna sketch you standing up, too—if you don’t mind.”

 

“Don’t mind at all,” she murmurs, blushing. Now that she has the dress on, she’s enjoying it more than she anticipated. It’s quite a thrill to pose like this for Steve and a sexy sort of shiver runs up and down her spine. So far, he’s only sketched her late in the night and she has always been, more or less, asleep. Now that she is fully awake, there’s something intoxicating about meeting his gaze directly. Though his face is flush with need, she also senses that he loves her and would do anything for her. _It’s trust,_ she tells herself, never having experienced these sensations before. _But then, I’ve never had anyone draw me before. It feels like love and lust at the same time. Oh, God. There are no words._

 

“Good.” His voice sounds husky. “You’re so beautiful,” he adds in tender appreciation of the glowing abundance of flesh on display before him. Silvery bits of vibranium shimmer over her like some miniature waterfall and he imagines her a water nymph or some kind of exotic mermaid. Her belly has the faintest hint of a swell to it by now, the chainmail utterly unforgiving of excess curves, and he feels satisfied that change is upon her—change caused by _him._ To render this beauty on paper is nothing short of magical, an act of love only he can perform. “’M so glad,” he murmurs. “Thank you for letting me do this.”

 

She smiles flirtatiously. “Might as well make the best of it. It’s the only chance you’re gonna get.”

 

“Why? Still planning on making me that shield?” he asks impetuously.

 

“In another day or two, I won’t even be able to fit this over my head,” she smirks. “So, sure. What the hell.”

 

He pouts. “I’d hate to undo all that craftsmanship.”

 

“This dress doesn’t exactly hold good memories for me,” she demurs.

 

“Doesn’t it?” he counters wistfully, fingering a charcoal nub. “We really connected that night—all three of us." At the mention of Bucky, he pauses a moment, realizing for the first time the strange intimacy they've shared as a threesome. There's no other way about it; he must include Bucky in his summary of that night. “You let us in, let us know your feelings. Both of us. You let us see _you._ And . . .”

 

“And . . . what?” she presses, her heart clenching. _He’s right. That was one hell of a night. I remember both of them holding me . . . Steve threatened to kiss me so I wouldn’t murder T’Challa in a room full of people . . . And we went swimming in the lagoon, in the dark. All three of us . . . They were so handsome . . . The way they touched me . . ._

 

“The lagoon,” he whispers, as if he can read her mind. “I loved that night. Swimming under the moon . . . Carrying you home in my arms . . .”

 

Shivering from the memory, she has to admit the truth. “I loved that night, too—in the end.”

 

“Wish I could take you there right now,” he adds longingly, still sketching away. He speaks as if to himself. “Make you mine by that waterfall. That’s all I wanted to do then. I still dream about it . . .”

 

“Do you?” she shivers, recalling a similar erotic dream of her own. She changes position and her breasts nearly spill out the sides of the dress. Steve hurriedly flips over the page to begin another drawing.

 

“ . . . Bucky,” he mutters to himself.

 

“He can’t see any of this,” she reminds him firmly. “I’ve blocked him out.”

 

Steve nods silently and keeps drawing. After a while, he stops. “You can stand up now. If you like.”

 

Eyes glued to his, she rises to her feet, most of her weight resting upon her left leg, hand on hip. This sort of seductive talk is rather new for them. _Steve is more of a hands-on kind of guy,_ she grins to herself, though the thought does nothing to quell her desire. It only grows as she stands barefoot before him, his eyes travelling up and down her body. “You know, there’s a lake over in the woods. I don’t think you’ve seen it yet. We’ve gone swimming there before, but the water doesn’t warm up until July.”

 

“Hmmm,” he smiles. “Sounds great. Let’s do it.” But the chandelier casts its glow over her bare arms and he notices the pearly outlines of her scars, just as he did that night in Wakanda. A sudden streak of rage strikes his heart. _Goddamn it._ _I could kill whoever gave her those scars._

 

“Steve?” she asks softly, seeing the anger on his face.

 

“Sorry,” he swiftly apologizes, trying to shake it off. "I love you. It's, uh, takin' a lot for me not to touch you right now."

 

“I know." She has to agree, for she is longing to do some touching herself. Seeing him calm down, she teases him. “You asked for this.”

 

“I did,” he agrees. He’s gotten so fast at sketching that he completes the last portrait in a matter of moments, knowing he will go back and fill in the details later. It has been a revelation to sketch Zaara this way, capture something of his passion for her on paper. _She's so lovely. My everything. I've never been happier in my life._ Though he must push away the memory of that painful portrait from Brooklyn, he nevertheless manages to capture the beauty of her burgeoning figure, the way the vibranium drapes over her curves, not to mention that Mona Lisa expression in her eyes. He puts down the drawing pad and makes a beeline for Zaara. “Come here.”

 

“Steve,” she whispers, letting her fingers get lost in his dirty blonde hair. He gives her a filthy kiss, pushing her dress even higher up her thighs until it rests upon her hips. Lifting her like she weighs nothing, he plants her directly upon his own hips and slips his manhood inside her tight wetness. She envelopes him like a sheath. He feels so warm and snug inside her, the chainmail tickling his skin. One of her breasts slips out of the side of the dress and he cannot contain himself. He starts thrusting while she chants his name, rocking her hips over his.

 

 _This is it,_ he thinks to himself. _This is where she loses herself and Bucky can see us. Bucky knows what’s happening between us now._ He slows himself, then stops.

 

“Steve?” she asks, bewildered. Immediately, she realizes the truth. Rather than blocking Bucky out, she runs her thumb over Steve’s cheek to soothe him. But she also sends a message. _Bucky, I won’t block you anymore. I can’t._

Bucky sighs, his hand wrapped tight around himself. _I know, doll. I’m sorry._

 

In a flash, she senses Bucky’s own state of arousal. It is plain as day, his swollen girth a startling image and she moans. Bucky senses that, too; understands that she is responding to _him_ now. For a tiny moment, he makes her feel incredible. But he backs his consciousness away, strives to make his psychic presence unobtrusive. Invisible.

 

It doesn’t work. Bucky Barnes is no telepath.

 

Zaara gathers herself, still stroking Steve’s face. “Shhh, my love. It’s alright. Bucky understands. Just put it out of your mind. I love you. You deserve this. We belong together.”

 

Biting his lip, Steve squeezes his eyes shut, then opens them again to see Zaara beaming love and understanding.

 

 _Aw, hell._ “I love you, too, sweetheart,” he vows, bringing his mouth to hers. At the taste of her, his thrusts take over again and he loses himself while she cries out her pleasure. Somehow, they end up with Zaara’s back pressing into the wall, Steve holding her aloft as he pants and struggles to recover. Once he catches his breath, he carries her to bed. Her body flops down upon the mattress, exhausted. Smiling with satisfaction, he gently pulls the vibranium dress off her body. “There. That’s better,” he murmurs, kissing her bare breasts reverently before curling himself around her.

 

“Steve,” she whispers, knowing Bucky, too, has reached a state of peace and satiety. “Darling, I’m so sorry about all this.”

 

“Don’t be,” he shakes his head and strokes her bare belly, always searching for hints of pregnancy. “I’m so happy. So lucky to have you. I’m . . . I’m just gonna put the other stuff out of my head for now. I may know the truth, but there’s no reason I _have_ to think about it, right?”

 

“You’re right,” she agrees, kissing his shoulder and tasting his sweat. It’s intoxicating. “I’m happy, too. You deserve this, darling—you deserve all my love.” She smiles at him radiantly and he smiles right back. Blushing, she makes her confession. “By the way, I, uh, just wanted you to know that I’m starting to feel excited about this baby.”

 

“You are?” Steve looks more delighted than she thought possible.

 

“Yeah,” she laughs, and kisses him. “I am.”

 

“Does that mean you’ll marry me?” he asks breathlessly.

 

“Steve,” she laughs, pulling him closer for a long, deep kiss.

 

 _Marry Steve. Best thing you could do, doll. You two are perfect together,_ Bucky sighs to himself.

 

_Perfect._

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Ellie giggles, her dark hair mingling with Bucky’s as it cascades down his chest. It occurs to Steve that his friend could use a haircut, though no one has suggested it yet. Bucky’s hair has grown so long, he imagines Zaara could wind it up into a bun just like she does Ellie’s. The child had a ballet lesson today and still wears her uniform as she sits in Bucky’s lap. Bucky doesn’t mind at all and cuddles her, reading a beloved pony book. Steve loves watching them together. Thick as thieves, the two of them have been inseparable pretty much from the moment they met. _She’s gotten so attached to him. And he’s crazy about her. Soon, he’ll be her Uncle Bucky—forever._ But Ellie has had enough.

 

“I want to be like Rarity!” she shouts, leaping off Bucky’s lap. “I want to find all the jewels in the kingdom!”

 

“I’d give you all the jewels in the kingdom if I had ‘em, kitten,” Bucky purrs and it warms Steve’s heart. Not to be left out, Henry leaps from his own lap and follows his sister. To the men’s chagrin, they make a beeline for their mother’s room. _Our room, now,_ Steve thinks. “Oh, no,” he groans. “They’re gonna make a huge mess. Zaara’ll be furious.”

 

Of one mind, the men rise from their seats and sprint to Zaara’s room. Bucky gets there first. “Aw, kids,” he grouses. “You never touch a lady’s jewelry box.”

 

“Will Mama be mad?” Ellie asks with worry. She has already draped herself in several necklaces. Meanwhile, Henry wears several rings on his fat little fingers, though they are so large they keep slipping off.

 

“Let’s make this snappy.” Steve gets down on the floor, dreading the loss or damage of anything. He knows Zaara does not exactly collect expensive jewelry. She is fond of semi-precious stones and the things she keeps tend to be sentimental in nature, which makes him worry all the more. Her expression when he told her he wanted to buy her a diamond said it all. _She may not love expensive jewelry, but she’s worth all the diamonds in the world to me,_ he thinks, grabbing at three or four rings rolling across the floor. One slides into the darkness under the bed, but Bucky quickly retrieves it.

 

“Gold,” the former Winter Soldier muses, rolling it between his fingers. “It’s heavy. Gotta be real. Say, what’s your mama doin’ with a big old gold ring like this?” But his jaw drops and his throat goes dry. It is all he can do speak. “Steve,” his voice croaks, barely able to form his name.

 

“What?” His best friend is busy cleaning up the jewelry, careful not to damage any of the beaded necklaces. He has to admit that turquoise, opal, and lapis are beautiful stones.

 

“Steve, you’ve gotta see this,” Bucky croaks, still struggling to speak.

 

With the last of the rings safe in the jewelry box, Steve snaps it shut and cradles it to his chest. “What?” he asks, shielding the treasures from the rambunctious boy and girl. Henry thinks it is all a great game and leaps to snatch the jewels back from him. _I need somewhere to put this, somewhere up high so they can’t reach it. Out of sight would be best._ Steve looks desperately around the room. Every high shelf seems to be filled. Clearly, Zaara already has a plethora of items out of the children’s reach. “What is it, Buck? Got one more?” He stands up tall so it’s harder for the kids to grab at the box, but they won’t give up. They continue to jump and create a terrible distraction. But the look on Bucky’s face tells him it’s important.

 

“Follow me!” Bucky shouts over the din as he flees into Zaara’s en-suite bathroom.

 

Steve barely manages to close the door in time. “What? What is it?” he pants, still clutching the box to his chest.

 

“You’d better sit down, pal,” Bucky declares portentously, locking them in. The children pound on the door, furious to be shut out.

 

“I can barely hear you,” Steve shakes his head. “What are you talking about?”

 

“Just sit down, Steve,” Bucky says louder, cursing his sensitive hearing. Really, the children are driving him out of his mind. They just don’t know when to quit.

 

“Alright.” Steve shrugs and perches on the edge of the clawfoot bathtub.

 

“Nah. Not there, pal. You could slip and get hurt,” Bucky says, patting his friend’s shoulder kindly.

 

“Are you kidding me?” Steve scoffs. “You hear what’s going on out there. Why’d you drag me in here? Tell me before they tear down the door.”

 

Biting his lip, Bucky wills himself to block out the screeching so he can concentrate on his friend. _Steve needs me._ The toilet seems a sturdier choice so he closes the lid. “Sit down, pal. Then I’ll tell you.”

 

Furrowing his brow, Steve hesitates, though the expression on Bucky's face shows he's not fooling around. Steve complies. “This is getting weird, Buck. What’s goin’ on? Hurry up.”

 

“I found a ring,” Bucky proclaims solemnly. His voice sounds stronger, if only to be heard over the children. “It fell off Henry and rolled under the bed.”

 

“Yeah?” Steve asks, half-listening. _They’re gonna kick down the door at second now. It’ll be scratched to bits._ “Stop with the kicking!” he shouts. “We’ll be out soon! Just give us a minute.” To her credit, Ellie puts a halt to her antics, but her brother will not listen.

 

Bucky ignores them all. “Look, Steve. This is gonna come as a shock. Brace yourself. I don’t know how she got this or where it came from. Like I said, I just found it under the bed. Hold on.”

 

Steve re-directs his attention to Bucky, eyes locked on his metal fist. Bucky slowly opens his hand and presents Steve with a ring.

 

A heavy, golden ring.

 

An oddly familiar ring.

 

With a curious shiver, Steve takes the ring in his hand. Its weight feels reassuring, somehow. But there seems to be something more. He brings it closer, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. It’s a woman’s ring, no doubt. Its size is far too small for a man. And it sports a pattern—a rather familiar engraving of elegant lines and swirls. His eyes make out the inscription on its inside.

 

 _Pigeon_.

 

Bucky catches him just before he hits the floor.

 

 


	24. I've Got You Under My Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our story is slowly wrapping up. The first memory has broken through! FINALLY. You may have guessed my approach by now: things will trickle in gradually and from different places, too. I hope you enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING:A violent memory/flashback in the middle of the chapter. If you have read The Test of Time (the second story in the series), you know the scene. I've shortened it, but kept the dialogue exactly the same. However, I've tried to maintain enough narrative coherence so you don't have to read that story in order to follow this one.
> 
> Also, later on in the chapter, we have another reference to the Bucky/Nat dubcon and Hydra-induced sexual assault incident. It is brief and not explicit.

 

 

 

_I’ve got you under my skin._

_I’ve got you deep in the heart of me._

_So deep in my heart, you’re really a part of me._

_I’ve got you under my skin._

_I’d sacrifice anything come what might_

_For the sake of having you near._

_In spite of a warning voice that comes in the night_

_And repeats, repeats in my ear._

_Don’t you know, little fool,_

_You never can win._

_Use your mentality, wake up to reality._

_But each time I do just the thought of you_

_Makes me stop before I begin._

_‘Cause I’ve got you under my skin._

 

 

 

_I just love this ring—the way it feels on my finger . . ._

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Still as the grave, Steve’s body lies frozen. Dreamless, until the distant echo of a voice—a most familiar voice—rouses him to consciousness.

_I just love this ring—the way it feels on my finger . . ._

 

He bolts up in bed. Awake, he shivers as the sheet falls away, exposing his bare chest to the cold laboratory air. All too soon, the words ring out again and some sixth sense tells him this is no dream. He braces himself.

 

_I just love this ring—the way it feels on my finger . . ._

 

In his mind, he sees nothing. No image accompanies the sound and it leaves him feeling blind. He can only hear the words and marvel at the voice which speaks them; a soft, feminine voice. It resonates throughout his body, sinks deep into his veins until it finds its way to his core, to the very center of his being. Gasping for air, he clutches the bedsheet in his fists and shivers again, though it is not from the cold this time. Zaara and Bucky leap out of their seats. Clasping hands, they regard him anxiously. It takes a moment for Steve to register that he is in the lab again. Dry, sticky spots irritate his brow and sweat-soaked chest and his fingers automatically seek to scratch them. Wires tickling his skin are another dead giveaway. His eyes adjust swiftly to the relative darkness and he can make out Zaara’s hand reaching for his own, urging him to let go of the bedsheet. He surrenders and lets her take his hand. She brings it to her lips and kisses it, beaming vibes of loving calm before she leans closer and lets him breathe in her scent. “Zaara,” he whispers, reaching his other hand to stroke her hair. But his garbled words sound an accusation. “I heard you.”

 

“What?” she asks softly. Fearfully. “Heard what, darling?”

 

“You said . . . You said you love the ring. You love the way it feels on your finger.” Stubborn, he stares at her hard. _Nothing matters but this. Nothing._

 

Zaara glances at Bucky uneasily. “Okay, honey. I love the ring . . . just like you said.”

 

He frowns. _This is wrong. She doesn’t understand._ His voice, still rough, comes louder now. “No. _Ma’s ring—_ we found it in your jewelry box. You said you love the way it feels on your finger.”

 

“Okay,” she whispers, stroking his hand tenderly. She is so afraid of upsetting him she will agree to anything he says. “I love the way it feels.”

 

“NO.” He shakes his head forcefully and she drops his hand. He sounds harsh. Frustrated. “That’s not what I meant. I _heard_ you. I heard you _say_ those words.”

 

“Okay, Steve. Alright.” It takes her breath away to see him on edge like this and she takes short gulps of air. “I believe you. Hank said you had another episode—a triggered memory. Bucky told me all about your mother’s ring. I know it’s yours. It belongs to you.”

 

Steve narrows his eyes. _“_ Give it back. _Now.”_

 

At first, Zaara hesitates. Quickly, she thinks the better of it. “Bucky’s got it. You can have it back.” Without a word, Bucky removes a small box from his pocket. He opens it and presents it to Steve. Steve takes the ring between his fingers greedily and examines it with utmost care, turning it round and round. Terrified of his anger and the possibility of a repeat episode, she prays the ring won’t make him pass out again. Fiery shots of suppressed rage spurt in her direction, leaving her to feel she has done something terribly wrong to the man she loves.

 

Bucky places his metal hand upon her shoulder. _Steady, doll. It’ll be alright. Give him time._

 

Steve tears his eyes from the ring and regards her with suspicion. “How did you get this?”

 

She exhales. “I don’t know.”

 

Steve looks as if he does not believe her.

 

“Just tell him, doll,” Bucky murmurs. “It’ll be alright.” He makes his plea in an earnest voice. “She ain’t lyin’ Steve—she _doesn’t_ know. She told me so. Let her explain.”

 

Steve stares at her, waiting.

 

Zaara trembles harder and Bucky wraps his flesh arm snug about her waist, pressing his body into hers to support her weight. His warm breath caresses the back of her neck and she relaxes slightly. “Four years ago, I went on a mission. But I don’t remember anything that happened. The Professor told me I went off to fight the Juggernaut—alone.”

 

“You went to fight the _Juggernaut_? _Alone?_ ” The thought of it horrifies him and Steve flinches palpably, recalling the monstrous man in a helmet who confronted them outside Jean Grey’s house.

 

“Yeah,” she admits, somewhat shameful. “The Professor said he came to attack the school. I lured him away from the others. I took him on and the two of us disappeared somehow. They couldn’t find us anywhere, not even with Cerebro.” She pauses. “We were gone for months.”

 

_“Months?”_

 

“I didn’t say it was smart,” she sighs miserably. “But I did it. I was only trying to save them.”

 

“You saw that gorilla, Steve.” Bucky leaps in to defend. her. “He barged into Jean Grey’s house that day. None of us could do a thing against ‘im. Our girl thought she could protect the kids all on her own. She’s the only one of ‘em who stood a chance.”

 

Steve gazes at her with deep disapproval.

 

Zaara sighs. _I can’t change history, Steve_. “So, I went alone. I can’t explain much because I don’t remember what happened next. The Professor said there’s a blank spot in my mind. When I got back home, I was wearing a necklace with two rings and a locket. The locket was mine; it had a picture of Ellie inside. I still have it. But I don’t know where the rings came from. I’d never seen them before. One was your mother’s—we know that now. I don’t know about the other. Like I said, I couldn’t remember. Only . . .” She swallows back tears.

 

“Only what?” Steve demands, still suspicious.

 

“I remembered how I got my scars.” A single sob escapes as she gazes down at her arms. It is unusual for Zaara to wear short sleeves, but her bare arms reveal the cruel scars glinting under the lab lights, wispy mother-of-pearl etchings traveling up and down her skin.

 

Steve glances at Bucky. Still supporting Zaara, the former Winter Soldier sports a protective expression and though he loves his friend, he is ready to whisk her out of there if need be. He can tell Steve isn’t happy. “Ask the Professor, punk. She came home with her arms torn up. He couldn’t tell what happened; said there was nothing for him to read. Only that fight with Sabretooth, is all.”

 

“Sabretooth?” At the sound of the name, something inside Steve Rogers snaps. _It’s enough she went after the Juggernaut, but she faced down two monsters—all on her own._ Rage, fear, and confusion envelope him. His voice grows softer, more menacing. “Where. Is. He?”

 

Cringing at the name, Zaara buries her face in Bucky’s broad chest. The former Winter Soldier pulls her closer. “Don’t go there, pal,” he warns. “It’s a bad, bad memory. She gets, uh . . . Well the Professor calls it a post-traumatic response. I gotta take her away if you won’t play nice. Come on, man.”

 

Steve’s heart aches. He closes his fist tight around his mother’s old ring. Unable to bear seeing Zaara suffer, he forces his mind away from his obsession with the ring. “Zaara—” he calls in a different tone, hauling himself up off the bed. It takes everything she’s got not to flee from him but she stays put, clinging to Bucky. _Sabretooth is gone. He can’t hurt me anymore. It’s over._ The old mantra stops her from falling to pieces, but her heart keeps right on pounding. In one fell stroke, Steve rips the wires from his body. Bucky makes no attempt to stop him. It takes only two steps before he sweeps Zaara up in his arms. Seeing he’s his old self again, Bucky poses no resistance. Even so, he watches them like a hawk.

 

“Shhhh, darling,” Steve soothes, settling her in his lap. “It’s alright. I’m not mad at you. I know he hurt you. Can you tell me what happened? You got back from a mission and you found this ring on your necklace?”

 

Bucky remains still as a statue, arms empty, staring at the two people he loves as if in a trance. _Hold on, doll. You can do this._

 

Bewildered, Zaara searches for an answer Steve will accept. Between the trauma of him passing out (again) and the vile memory of Sabretooth, it takes a moment to summon the fortitude to speak. Bucky radiates strength through their tether and she grasps onto it, offering her confession. “Steve . . . I’m sorry. I honestly don’t know how I got your mother’s ring. I knew I had to keep it safe so I put in my jewelry box. It felt . . . important. I don’t know why. I had no idea it belonged to your mother. The Professor couldn’t figure it out, either. I’m so sorry.”

 

Bucky looks on, arms aching to hold her the way Steve does. _You did good, doll. He’ll understand._

 

“Shhh . . .” Steve covers her cheek with kisses and strokes her hair. “It’s alright, love. I’m glad you kept it safe. This ring means a lot to me. I thought I’d lost it, that I’d never see it again.” Halting his kisses, he opens his palm and stares at the heavy gold ring in disbelief, stroking Zaara up and down with his other hand. Finally, he looks to Bucky.

 

“It’s your Ma’s ring, alright,” his friend confirms. “How could I ever forget?” With a melancholy sigh, he recalls Steve’s grief for his mother, all the times he held that ring in his hand and gazed at it like it was the only thing he had in the world. “Glad you got it back, pal. After all this time . . . I can’t hardly believe it.”

 

“Neither can I,” Steve concurs. “Guess it doesn’t matter how.” But once again, a soft voice echoes in his head.

 

_I just love this ring—the way it feels on my finger._

 

He gasps, still shocked by the familiarity of it. _Zaara. That had to be her voice. I know it’s true—sure as I’m sitting here_. “Zaara? Sweetheart?”

 

She sniffles and blinks back tears. “Yeah?”

 

An idea has taken him and he must voice it immediately. “Would you try it on for me? Please?” He doesn’t mean to beg though he really has no say in the matter.

 

“Of course—if you want me to,” she murmurs, uncertain. She hesitates until Steve gives her an encouraging squeeze so she knows he means it. He curses himself for making her feel as if she’s done something wrong. Zaara bites her lip and plucks the ring gingerly out of his enormous hand, as if he would deny her.

 

Suddenly, Steve grabs her wrist. “Wait.” Frozen with fear, she allows him to take the ring back from her. “Let me.”

 

She trembles. “Okay.” With a furtive smile, he slides the ring over the third finger on her left hand. It glides on smoothly, the cool, heavy gold enveloping her skin. _Like a wedding ring,_ she thinks. It fits perfectly and he considers it a while, stroking it thoughtfully with the pad of his thumb.

 

Bucky stares at him hard. _What’s he gettin’ at?_

 

Finally, Steve speaks. “I’d like you to wear this from now on.”

 

Her face red with tears, she nods submissively. He can tell she’s exhausted by worry and it occurs to him she feels coerced. Indeed, Bucky gives an impatient sigh and signals him to back off. “Give her a break, pal. She ain’t lookin’ so good.”

 

“That wasn’t what I meant,” Steve reassures her. Stroking her cheek, he gives her a tight hug. “I’d never force you. What I meant is that I love you. And I want you to _have_ this ring whether you marry me or not. It’s yours.”

 

She exhales. “Steve, I’m so sorry about all this.”

 

“Don’t be. I know it’s been rough on you and I’m sorry that I hurt you. Wish I could make it all go away.” He cups her face in his large hands and kisses her in apology, tenderly stroking her cheeks with his thumbs and cursing the beastly name of Sabretooth while his eyes take in her scars—each and every one of them. “I could kill Sabretooth for what he did to you—whoever the hell he is.”

 

“Please.” Her bottom lip trembles. “Please don’t talk about it.”

 

“’M so sorry, sweetheart. I promise not to bring it up again.” Sounding like his old self once more, he kisses her. “I’m just happy to have Ma’s ring back. And I’m happy to have you, too. I love you more than anything.”

 

Bucky glances away, wondering whether to give them some privacy.

 

_No, Bucky. Please stay._

 

 _‘Course I will, doll. Don’t be scared. Steve’s got a lotta history with that ring. And he just woke up. Don’t worry none. I’ll look after you both._ He exudes so much warmth her way she starts to feel more like herself again. Finally, she relaxes enough to kiss Steve back. With a new sense of confidence, she says her peace. “Darling, I’m sorry I can’t remember how I got the ring. The Professor was there when I came back from my mission, but even he couldn’t figure out what happened. So, I kept the rings. I never knew where they came from but I could tell they were too valuable to throw away. They had to be on my necklace for a reason, right?”

 

“Of course, sweetheart,” he murmurs, still kissing her. “And the Juggernaut?”

 

“He never bothered us again,” she replies. “Guess I did the job right. But I still don’t know what happened.”

 

“You never thought to ask him?” Bucky queries. “No—wait. Scratch that. I get it. There’s no talkin’ to a gorilla.”

 

“Still . . .” Steve muses, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

 

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Zaara warns. “Don’t even think about it. That bully’s got a lot of hate for Charles Xaviar. It’s bad enough I had to call him up to help with our mission. Come to think of it, he did say something strange to me that day . . .”

 

“What was it?” Steve asks. He doesn’t know why, but the mystery of Ma’s ring still gives him a sense of urgency.

 

She frowns, struggling to remember. “He said . . . He said that I promised to leave him alone. That he’d behaved himself. Told me I had no right to disturb him. It almost sounded as if we had . . . an agreement I never knew about. Mission accomplished, I guess.” She shrugs. “I never tried to read his mind. I was sort of busy that day.”

 

Steve frowns and vows to return to the matter later. “Say,” he adds in a different tone of voice. _I wonder what the other ring looks like? Why would it be on Zaara’s necklace along with Ma’s?_ “Can we go back up to the suite now?”

 

Zaara looks to Bucky who gives her a wide grin. Determined not to let her out of his sight for the time being, he turns on his heel and leads the way out of the lab. “The Doc can examine Steve in the suite later, right?” he calls over his shoulder.

 

“We’ll have to apologize for damaging the equipment,” Zaara calls back, dismayed by the many tangled nodes and wires.

 

“I’ll apologize.” Steve eyes the mess left on the exam table. “It was my fault.”

 

“You won’t black out again?” she asks skeptically.

 

Still stroking the ring on her finger, Steve rises to his feet and follows Bucky, carrying Zaara in his arms like a baby. “Nah. I’m just fine. But what I’d like—”

 

“Don’t tell me,” Bucky interrupts. “You wanna see the _other_ ring. Don’t ya?”

Steve presses his lips together. _You know me too well, Buck._

 

Concern for his well-being takes over and Zaara stops him in his tracks. “Darling, what if seeing that ring makes you black out again?”

 

“Why would I black out? There’s no other ring I care about like Ma’s,” he protests.

 

Zaara and Bucky exchange glances. _He sounds so sure of himself._ The former Winter Soldier shrugs again. “He’s right about that. So, what the hell?”

 

“No. I don’t want to risk it. Not so soon after a blackout.” Zaara presses her palm against Steve’s forehead flirtatiously. “We need the Professor to check upstairs first, honey. Just to be safe. When we get home, I’ll give the other ring to Bucky. He can leave it with Storm. She’ll keep it until the Professor says it’s safe for you to see it.”

 

Crestfallen, Steve knows not to push it. “Does Storm have the portrait I bought back in Brooklyn, too?” he asks bitterly.

 

“Never you mind,” Zaara retorts, glad to feel in control again. “We need you in good health if you expect to be looking after two—make that _three_ —children, Steve.”

 

“You said it, kitten,” Bucky huffs, wiping his brow and miming exhaustion. “With a new baby comin’, it’s gonna be an even match: three of us and three of them. Punk’s gotta take care of himself. Can’t expect us to wrangle three kids and your half-dead body at the same time, Steve. No fair.”

 

That makes him smile. “You’re right, Buck. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ll wait for the Professor.”

 

“Thank you.” She cups his face in her hands this time and kisses him sweetly. He receives it like a starving man.

 

Bucky’s heart aches with envy. He says nothing as he leads the way home.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Gathering the few items he owns into a pile on his bed, the Wolverine makes ready to move out of the suite. He glares mildly at Zaara, Bucky, and Steve who stand by, watching. The children are away at day camp and Logan seems piqued not to have the place to himself.

 

Bucky smirks. “Had enough of us, Howlett?”

 

He has, at least, the grace to appear guilty for it. “Thought I’d make a clean break. Chuck is back and I got a hankerin’ for my old room. Best leave the three of you to this telenovela you got goin’ on around here.” He regards each of them a moment, noting how both men always seem to be touching Zaara at all times; Steve’s arm drapes over her shoulders while Bucky’s metal hand plays with the fingers of her right hand. Logan narrows his eyes. “Now you got the bed all to yourself, Pretty Boy—if you want it.”

 

“Not that I’m complainin’,” Bucky hems while Steve and Zaara sport expressions of amusement and regret. “But you sure that’s what you want? The kids’ll miss you.”

 

“I’ll be two minutes down the hall,” Logan rolls his eyes. “Ain’t gonna stop ‘em from jumpin’ on my head at six o’ fuckin’ clock in the morning.”

 

“Language,” Steve chastises automatically.

 

Zaara doesn’t bother to suppress a giggle. “We’ll miss you, Logan. But guys, I need Bucky to help me out with something. Steve, would you keep Logan company?”

 

“Don’t want no company,” the Wolverine mutters.

 

Taking the hint, Steve seats himself discreetly on the far side of the bed. “Sure thing, sweetheart.” He watches wistfully as Bucky whisks Zaara away.

 

When they enter her room, the former Winter Soldier smiles sadly. “Hey, I remember this place.” He considers the bed where he slept so many nights—the bed she now shares with Steve. Trying to ignore his plaintive tone, Zaara casts her gaze earnestly around the room, searching for her jewelry box. It feels easier to hunt for a ring than to address Bucky’s yearning. She has no clue where the men might have hidden it. “Here,” Bucky intervenes. “I got it.” He reaches over the topmost shelf and hands her the jewelry box.

 

She opens it and digs around until she finds the large gold ring. “This has to be it.”

 

Bucky blinks in surprise. “ _That_ one? Looks mighty big."

 

Zaara has to agree. “A man’s ring, I’d guess. Here.” She hands it to him and he examines it with his flesh hand. “Try it on.”

 

Bucky slips it on his finger. It fits him quite comfortably. “Yup. It’s a man’s ring, alright. No markings, though. Gotta be a wedding band.”

 

She takes his hand in hers and turns it round and round, stroking the smooth, heavy gold. “But it’s so plain.”

 

“Rings used to be plain in my day,” he informs her bluntly, enjoying her soft touches. “Everything’s so flashy now.”

 

“Steve’s mother’s ring was engraved,” she protests.

 

“That was unusual,” he counters. “They had a family friend do it since his pop couldn’t afford a stone.”

 

“I see,” she replies. “Well, then. Get it to Storm, would you? I don’t trust Steve any farther than I could throw him.”

 

“Wise woman,” he smirks. But the next moment, he takes her in his arms. _That was one hell of an afternoon. And you’ve barely eaten anything. It’s not good, doll—even if you feel like throwin’ up. I gotta take care of you—and that baby. Let me. Please._ He realizes he’s holding her like a lover, his thumbs stroking both her cheeks, their bodies pressing against each other. Quickly, he decides to put a halt to this intimacy and grasps her by the shoulders, inserting a small space between them. “Look, kitten. We made it through. Like I said: everything’s gonna be alright. Quit worrying about Steve—he’s just fine. You gotta focus on yourself and this one.” He reaches down and strokes her belly tenderly. Sighing, Zaara rests her head upon his shoulder.

 

“I wish that was all I had to worry about.”

 

“Stevie’s strong, doll. He can take it, I promise. I’m all the trouble you need in this house.” Bucky flicks her chin up and smiles at her. “I mean it, doll. Don’t worry yourself.”

 

“Okay, Bucky. Okay.”

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

“Why’re you leavin’ so soon?” Steve suddenly demands, hands on hips.

 

“Don’t owe you no explanation, Bossypants,” Logan snorts. “You ain’t my Captain no more.”

 

Rendered irrelevant, Steve flops down upon the bed, defeated. He knows he cannot see the other ring and resigns himself to the fact that Bucky will take it to Storm. After what he put her through, Zaara is entitled to have her way. How he hates to surrender control. _Damnit, I wanna know the truth. Where the hell did she get Ma’s ring? And why did I hear her voice talkin' about how she loves it? There’s no way to solve this mystery without hurting her. I need the Professor. Without him, I’m stuck._

 

“Hey, man.” Logan stops, wondering whether the good Captain has just passed out on his bed. “You alright? You scared our girl somethin’ awful today.”

 

“Sorry about that.” Rubbing his eyes, Steve sits up.

 

Logan snorts again. “Don’t apologize to _me_ , bub. Ain’t my problem—not unless you expect _me_ to haul your heavy ass down to the lab next time you conk out in front of your lady.”

 

Steve doesn’t reply but only watches Logan sort his meager pile of clothes. After a while, he clears his throat. “You talk to the Professor yet, Howlett?”

 

“Saw him,” the Wolverine mutters, regarding him skeptically for daring to address him as Howlett. He chooses to let it slide. “But we didn’t talk. Chuck . . . he ain’t himself. Not yet.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says softly.

 

“S’alright,” Logan sighs, his heart heavy. “He’ll get there. Just needs time, is all.”

 

“Don’t we all,” Steve muses, melancholy. “Say, Howlett. I wanted to thank you.”

 

“Thank me? For what?” he asks gruffly.

 

“For staying with Bucky. For looking after him,” Steve explains patiently. “Especially after that nightmare.”

 

“Them funny little plants,” Logan murmurs, recalling that night in the garden. “Look, I been on some odd adventures, bub. But I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that.”

 

“Me, neither.” Suddenly, he whips his head around. Bucky is stepping out of the suite and Steve has to restrain himself from tearing after him. _Buck must have the other ring by now, must be takin’ it to Storm._

 

“There he goes,” Logan shakes his head ruefully. “Off to do her biddin’. Ain’t never seen a guy so taken by his best buddy’s girl.”

 

Steve turns a deep shade of red.

 

 _And you know it too, don’t you?_ With a deep breath, Logan finally says his peace. “Look, bub. I’ve lived a long, long time and seen some strange things,” he declares, gathering his belongings into his arms. “And I ain’t _never_ seen the likes o’ that.”

 

 _He’s right. We are strange, the three of us._ Compelled to defend Bucky, Steve protests. “He’s my best friend.”

 

“I know that.” The Wolverine exhales compassionately.

 

“We grew up together.”

 

“Know that, too,” he acknowledges. It seems a foregone conclusion. “He ain’t gonna hurt you, bub. He don’t got it in him. Even I remember Barnes. Sergeant Pretty Boy—that’s what I use to call ‘im.”

 

“I remember, too,” Steve admits, suppressing a smile. _Buck always hated it when you called him that._

 

“Look, bub. No matter what they did to his head, your boy’s a good man. He’ll treat her right.”

 

“I think so, too,” Steve whispers.

 

“She’s a good woman,” Logan nods to himself. “You can trust her.”

 

“I do. With everything.”

 

“Just hope she can trust you back.” The Wolverine rolls his eyes. “Telenovela.”

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

“Chuck.” The Wolverine gives a sardonic grin.

 

“Logan,” the Professor smiles back sleepily. “You’ve left Zaara.”

 

“I sure as hell did,” he snorts. “Had about as much as I can take.”

 

“Yes. I can see that.” With some difficulty, the Professor sits up in bed. It’s a new show of strength and Logan seems pleased by it.

 

“You’re lookin’ better,” he observes dryly. “Well enough to talk.”

 

“And is _that_ what you want to talk about, of all things?” Charles Xaviar asks in amusement. “Zaara, Bucky, and Steve?”

 

“I ain’t no fan of that telenovela,” he scoffs. “People livin’ their lives like a damn soap opera. It’s a free country; they can do whatever they want—long as it don’t involve _me._ Had enough o’ that sorta thing, Chuck.”

 

“Clearly you have.” The Professor raises his eyebrows. _Let us leave the past in the past, Logan._ “So, tell me why you’re here now.”

 

“Well,” Logan hems. “I had a memory, Chuck. A strange one. You know I can’t trust my own mind.”

 

“I know,” he cajoles. “So, won’t you tell me—what is it?”

 

“Can’t you read me?” Logan asks saucily, looking him up and down. “You seem ready to rumble.”

 

“Well, at the moment it appears I’ve been reading people’s minds whether I want to or not,” Charles admits with chagrin. “I’m lacking my old sense of control, shall we say. I don’t like to pry, as you well know. Zaara’s been working with me a little, helping me put up some walls.”

 

“Well, I _want_ you to read me this time,” the Wolverine confesses. “Been havin’ some memories from the war.”

 

“Which war?” the Professor asks candidly.

 

“The one with Cap,” he replies bluntly. “Saw ‘im in his red, white, and blue. Saw Pretty Boy, too.” He pauses and he face turns grim. “And . . . I saw Victor.”

 

“Victor Creed,” the Professor repeats dreamily, even while the blood chills in his veins. “You felt it, didn’t you? You _felt_ Zaara’s terror? You’re not tethered to her anymore, but I can tell you felt it. She remembered Sabretooth and how he hurt her . . . Wait . . .” His eyes open wide. “ _Logan_ — _you were there. You were there when it happened.”_

 

“I think I was.” The Wolverine frowns. The Professor settles back against the pillows and closes his eyes. The two of them flinch as the memory fleshes itself out. “Maybe I’m dreamin’,” Logan murmurs. “It can’t be real.”

 

“She has the scars to prove it. It _was_ real, Logan. _It happened.”_ Closing his eyes, Xaviar draws out the vision, unfolding it from the depths of the Wolverine’s mind.

 

 

 

~

 

_Darkness._

_A shrill scream sounds in the night._

_Moonlight casts long shadows between the trees and illuminates the figure of James Howlett. He crouches, surveying the scene before he hollers out a warning. “You look after her, bub! I’ll take the big guy. DO IT! Listen to me or she’ll die!”_

_Down on his knees, Bucky Barnes tends to an unconscious Zaara, her blood pouring upon the ground. Desperate, he whips off his jacket and tries to staunch the bleeding._

_Steve Rogers whirls around in the air and launches his vicious attack on a wild-eyed Sabretooth. The beast thrashes at him with dirty claws, snarls at him with sweaty fangs. Nothing seems to stop the hairy monster and the two of them tussle on and on, oblivious to all else._

_In the next heartbeat, James Howlett throws himself into the fray. Rogers tears into Victor Creed like a madman, but when he sees Howlett, he stops._

_Howlett extends his hand. “Hold up, bub! You don’t wanna fight me. Lemme take care of Creed. I know how to take him down.”_

_“NO!” Rogers screams._

_Howlett knows he is desperate. Terrified. “Can’t punch your way outta this one. Can’t kill him. Gotta tie him up. ‘S the only way to stop ‘im.”_

_Wincing, Rogers realizes he’s right. He runs to Zaara, tears streaming down his cheeks while her blood spills upon the earth. “Buck! Go get medical! Call the MPs! If Howlett’s right, we can only restrain Creed. Can’t kill him, otherwise I woulda by now.”_

_Barnes fights back his fear. “Hold on, doll. Steve’s got you. You’re gonna be alright, I promise. I’ll be right back.” He runs off._

_“Hold on, darling.” The Captain swallows a sob before he plants kisses all over her face._

_Howlett and Creed circle each other, stalking, prowling, ready to pounce. Both of them know the real fight is about to begin—the only fight that ever really mattered. Sabretooth gives a menacing growl. “Gonna send for the coppers, runt? Always knew you were a traitor.”_

_The Wolverine snarls right back at him. “Yeah. Gonna put you back in your cage. WHERE YOU BELONG. Never liked it when you hurt girls, bad breath.”_

_“Never bothered you before.”_

_“Always did. That’s why I left you. That’s why I’ll keep on leavin’ you. Forever.”_

_With that, the Wolverine beats his so-called brother within an inch of his life._

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

“Logan.” Gasping for air, the Professor opens his eyes.

 

“Howlett,” the Wolverine pants, blood racing. Beads of sweat trickle down his brow. “I was James Howlett then.”

 

“You were. James Howlett,” Charles confirms. “But Bucky Barnes doesn’t share this memory of yours. Of that I am quite certain. In his memory, the two of you only participated in official missions. James Buchanan Barnes never knew a thing about mutants, let alone Sabretooth—or Zaara. He only knew _you_. He has no memory of Victor Creed at all.”

 

“Maybe you need to dig deeper, Chuck,” Logan growls. “’Cuz you’re forgetting one thing: What the hell was _she_ doing there?”

 

The Professor falls silent. Finally, he admits the truth. “I don’t know, Logan. I simply don’t know. Her memory of that trauma did not contain any image of you, or the Captain, or Bucky Barnes. Only Victor Creed and the things he did to her—and the things he _thought_ about doing to her. It is an evil remembrance and one she can never forget. And yet,” he adds with a sudden insight. “It makes sense. She fell unconscious from her wounds. She was in so much pain, she may never have realized you were there. The pain could have drowned out any other memory of the incident. I’ve seen this sort of thing happen before. With you, for example: the adamantium procedure.”

 

Logan winces. Nevertheless, he cannot ignore his bewilderment and voices his question again. “What the hell was Zaara doin’ back in World War II?”

 

“That’s just what I was wondering myself,” the Professor admits wearily. “Did this _really_ happen during the war? If so, how? How could Zaara have been there? To the best of our knowledge, time travel is impossible, unheard of. It’s very strange and quite the mystery. I’m not certain we’ll ever know the truth.”

 

“Go deeper, Chuck,” Logan begs. Something overtakes him; a new sense of urgency he does not understand. “Read my mind. There must be more.”

 

“I’ll do my best.” The Professor reaches for him, but Storm suddenly enters the room. Taking in the scene, she puts her hands on her hips.

 

“Gentlemen—might I ask what is going on here?” She taps her foot accusingly and stares hard at Logan.

 

“Chuck’s gonna read my mind. I had a memory from the Second World War. With Zaara in it,” he says bluntly.

 

Storm’s jaw drops. “What?” She looks to the Professor who is still bed bound and markedly weak. Skin pale and short of breath, Charles Xaviar is not yet himself. Storm’s protective instincts kick in. “Professor?”

 

“Only with your blessing, Storm,” he sighs humbly. _I know you’re going to stop me._

 

“Come on, Stormy,” Logan begs, though he knows it’s in vain. “Let him do it. We’re so close.”

 

“We need you, Charles,” she says gently, seating herself next to him on the bed. She takes his hand in hers. “The school needs you. So do the X-men and the rest of the world, too. We just got you back and we don’t want to lose you again. What did Hank say? You’ve come back from the dead. You need rest to make a full recovery. I think you’ve had enough for today. Logan can come back tomorrow.”

 

“Don’t you wanna know the truth?” the Wolverine demands. “Somethin’ funny’s goin’ on. I saw Zaara with Victor during the war—saw ‘im tear open her arms. Saw what happened, everythin’ she won’t talk about. Those two clowns up in that suite with her—Bossypants and Pretty Boy—they were there, too. All four of us.” His voice sounds foreboding and Storm frowns.

 

“World War II?” she puzzles. “Impossible. That was _seventy years ago,_ Logan. Zaara hadn’t even been born. No one can go back in time.”

 

“How do you know that? With all the strange we’ve got around here?” Logan sputters, indignant.

 

“Well . . .” Reluctant, Storm considers it.

 

“Let Chuck read my mind,” he begs while the Professor looks on imploringly. “We gotta figure this out. We _owe_ it to her.”

 

“I won’t have the Professor tire himself out. I think Zaara would agree,” she says firmly, though her expression is distraught. “I’ll talk to Zaara about it. Let’s see how you feel in the morning, Professor. Maybe Zaara can oversee this—to protect you.”

 

The Professor nods respectfully. “That would probably be wise.”

 

“ _Wise_?” The Wolverine is incredulous. “She can’t look at that memory, Chuck. It messed her up bad, what Victor did to her. She’s got _two_ men pinin’ for her, one of ‘em passin’ out ‘cause he’s so damn in love with her. She’s got one in the oven makin’ her throw up every five minutes. And you expect her to _oversee_ this herself?”

 

“Logan, you know she’s the most qualified and we have to protect the Professor. We just got him back.” Storm doesn’t like it, but the school has to come first.

 

“We gotta protect _her_ , Stormy _._ She can’t see my memories of that night,” he implores. “She _can’t_. It’d kill her.”

 

Storm and the Professor stare at each other. _He’s right, Ororo_. Finally, Storm gives in. “Alright. We’ll try again tomorrow. Wanda should be able to help. She’s a telepath.”

 

“Not exactly,” the Professor demurs. “But you can bring her. And Sam Wilson, too. He can keep watch over me and Wanda might offer a power boost so I don’t overtax myself.”

 

“Sounds good,” she nods, still thinking it through. “Logan?”

 

“Hmph?”

 

She regards the pile of clothes on his lap and smiles. “You must want your old room back.”

 

“The hell you say, toots?”

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

“God, baby, I’m so sorry about today,” Steve murmurs while he cradles Zaara in his arms. Their bodies lie bare in bed and it is late in the night. “And for everything I put you through. Not just my passing out—but reminding you of Sabretooth. All of it.”

 

“It’s alright,” she whispers, his heavy fingers stroking her ring back and forth, turning it round and round. “But I forgot something.”

 

“Forgot what?” he asks, the blissful oblivion of their coupling still coursing through his veins. Over the last couple of weeks, he’s adjusted to Bucky’s knowledge of them. In fact, the three of them don’t even discuss it anymore. It has become something of an uneasy truce—all three willing to let it be, as long as no one mentions it out loud. Though Steve can never forget their lack of privacy, it’s easier not to dwell on it. Besides, Zaara doesn’t appear to be bothered—so long as he keeps his cool. Steve is willing to let it slide, choosing instead to be grateful for the many good things in his life. His friendship with Bucky remains as close as ever.

 

“The plants,” she exhales, resigned. “Bucky’s out there with them now.”

 

“Is he?” Steve asks, jealous yet again of the peculiar intimacy they share, the two people he loves most. “He can feed them, then.”

 

“What’ll we do if they pull themselves up out of the ground and start walking around like that Groot thing?” She directs the question more to the heavens than to Steve.

 

“We’ll deal with it,” he declares in his Captain America voice. After a moment, he adds another thought. “Hey? You sure you wanna go out there?” He strokes her bare arm tentatively with his fingertips, asking a question that sends shivers all over her body. All too soon, he finds himself hardening. It’s the blessing and burden of being a supersoldier. He wants her all of the time and can never be sated. Twice a night, at the very least, he must have her. Zaara doesn’t complain.

 

“Steve,” she groans, feeling him move against her. “Mmmm . . .” And she kisses him, her mouth sucking on his thick, lower lip. _How come you always taste so good?_

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Outside in the garden, Bucky hums to himself by the light of the moon. Watering the tiny plants that have grown more than an in inch in the space of a week, he finds himself content. _I'm home. These little guys need me._ Though he has no idea whether the plants are male or female, he’s come to think of them as his boys. It’s been a while since it last rained and that’s a worry. He checks on the little creatures day and night and has even taught Ellie how to care for them. Sensing that they miss him, he feels as though they sing his name in some strange, otherworldly language which sounds something like the wind rustling through the trees. But his thoughts are suddenly interrupted.

 

 _Zaara._ _Again._

 

Bucky finishes watering the last plant and throws himself down upon the cool, damp earth with a groan. After a moment, he sits up. _Aw, I better go inside. Can’t get caught with my hands down my pants on the school grounds, even if it’s dark out._ He gets up and swiftly retreats to his room, seeking refuge in the en-suite shower.

 

_Bucky._

 

It’s as if she’s calling to him. Turning on the water, he lays down in the tub and shuts his eyes. Soon, he sees them together in his mind’s eye, body rolling over body in a strange, tangled dance under the bedsheets until Zaara emerges on top, her small, swollen belly grinding over Steve’s hips. She casts her head back, breasts jutting forward while Steve grasps hold of her hips, rocking her back and forth in a lazy, erotic motion. Bucking his hips up and down to make her bounce, Steve coaxes her to take him in as deeply as she can, setting a relentless rhythm that leaves her gasping for breath. Bucky squeezes himself hard, pumping his own cock faster and faster while the warm water splashes down upon him. Before she can stop herself, Zaara closes her eyes and envisions the former Winter Soldier lying in the tub, his long, dark tresses undulating in the water like some kind of naked merman, wet and pining for her. It gives her the final rush she needs and her walls tighten, squeezing Steve so hard that he comes inside her with a ragged moan. She keeps going until she feels Bucky drowning in his own ecstasy, body rippling in the water, gasping her name.

 

_Zaara._

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

The next morning, the three of them sit silent at breakfast. Zaara sips the herbal tea Steve brewed just for her while Bucky nibbles on pancakes and a cluster of strawberries Ellie washed and trimmed just for him. The wild-haired girl leaps onto his lap and he nuzzles her hair with his chin, kissing her good morning. Zaara feasts her eyes on the two of them as though she is in love. From his place by the stove, Steve flips over the last pancake and takes in the three of them, the odd little family he adores: woman, man, and child. His feelings seem so simple and yet he knows how complicated it really is. He adores Ellie and knows she loves him, too. Even so, he cannot fail to acknowledge the connection she shares with Bucky, a bond so tender that it startles him. He doesn’t begrudge it. Just as Zaara says, Ellie’s love is a powerful thing and he knows it is healing to his best friend. What more could he ask? No one makes Bucky smile the way Ellie does. Man and girl gaze into each other’s eyes as if they share some secret known only to them. Chuckling to himself, he’s reminded of when Bucky told her he once saw a unicorn. The next moment, the child giggles and runs away.

 

Zaara smiles and reaches across the table to squeeze Bucky’s metal hand, a reminder of another connection Steve can never share. Turning off the stove, he finally admits the truth. _Zaara loves Bucky_. _Adores him._ He feels it now, this love that emanates outward from their very bodies and fills the room, wafting over him like some beguiling perfume. It is thick—so thick he could almost reach out and touch it. Even though their tether is telepathic, Steve knows it makes no difference. _If he could,_ _Bucky’d marry her; no doubt about it. She loves him like he’s her own. And both of us love her. Both of us._ To his surprise, he feels more embarrassed than angered by this reality, though he is really too old to feel embarrassed by anything anymore. He’s been through too much. The woman he loves happens to love the man who is his best friend—they are tethered to each other and read each other’s minds, see each other's dreams, share the most private of intimate moments. His best friend loves his fiancée and Steve knows it is no innocent or platonic sort of love—no matter how much he wishes it were. _Just look at the way she looks at Bucky, even though I know she loves me, too. She loves both of us. But she’s going to marry me and she’s having my baby. We’re so close, the three of us, too close for comfort. I oughtta do somethin’, send him away, but I can’t. I won’t let Bucky go—not even for Zaara’s sake. She knows that. We’re family now. This is our home_. _Our life._

He regards Zaara carefully. She is tired after yesterday’s events and all the loving he gave her in the night. Though he regrets her fatigue, he promises he’ll make her nap later on. Suddenly, she directs her gaze his way and flashes him her warmest smile. Peaches and cream, her expression appears robust and healthy despite her many bouts of nausea. Steve can’t help himself; he smiles back, drinks in her love like a starving man. Even so, he continues scrutinizing what she eats, worrying about her ability to keep down her breakfast each morning. She throws up more than he’d like, though he knows it’s supposed to be a good sign in early pregnancy. _At least she seems happy, even after I dredged up those bad memories of Sabretooth._ His eyes cannot detect the slight swell of her belly for it is hidden under the table, but he takes heart knowing that it’s there. He could feel it pressing against him while he held her in the night. _One happy family despite it all,_ he tells himself, tossing the last pancake onto the pile. At that, Henry bursts into the room, blonde hair flying. He throws himself onto Steve who catches him with one arm and balances him on his hip. “Careful, buddy,” he chastises, carrying both boy and pancakes to the table. “Ready to eat?”

 

Always a challenge to get the boy to sit still long enough to consume anything, Steve is very a patient man. He takes time to explain to Henry that he is growing and needs a big breakfast in order to stay healthy. Zaara’s been worried about him. He got into trouble at camp for strong-arming some of the other kids. It seems Henry possesses strength well beyond his years and Zaara fears that unless Henry curbs his aggression, they may ask him to leave the school. Not only would this hurt the boy’s feelings, it instills Zaara with fear. Last night, she challenged Henry to an arm-wrestling match in an effort to test his strength. It was a tie. No weakling herself, until her recent pregnancy Zaara could bench press just over one hundred pounds. “This isn’t right, Steve,” she had whispered in shock. “He’s only three-and-a-half. He shouldn’t be able to beat me.”

 

“I’m stronger than Mama! I’m stronger than Mama!” Henry had sung, making Bucky’s jaw drop.

 

Steve wrapped his arms around her to stop her from trembling. “It’ll be alright,” he whispered in her ear. “Henry’s healthy.”

 

“What am I gonna do if he keeps getting stronger?” she asked, clinging to him in fear.

 

“Got bad news for ya, doll.” Bucky kissed her forehead and messed her hair. “He’s a boy. He’s _gonna_ keep getting stronger. It’s called growing up.”

 

“Not _this_ strong,” she had muttered.

 

“If he’s gonna have superstrength,” Steve interjected, “he’s in the right place. We’ll look after him. I know you want him to go to a normal school, but not all kids can have that—even if they’re not mutants. It’ll be alright, sweetheart. We’ll find a way. Trust me.”

 

“And what do _you_ know about raising children, Captain Bossypants?” She felt forced to retort.

 

“I’m learning,” he replied defensively. “I’m reading parenting books, actually.”

 

“You mean my pregnancy books?” she smirked.

 

“No. I found some of your parenting books,” he replied indignantly. In a humbler tone, he added, “I thought you wouldn’t mind. Bucky and I have signed up for on-line parenting classes, too.”

 

“What?” she asked, taken aback. _How’d he hide that from me?_

 

“Yup,” Bucky confirmed with a shit-eating grin. “We want to do it right. Times are different now. The world’s changed. We gotta do our part.”

 

“Uncle Bucky!” Henry squealed, giving the former Winter Soldier a bearhug.

 

“See, doll?” Bucky squeezed the little boy joyfully. “It’s gonna be alright. At least he ain’t as bad off as poor Theo and his stomach blasts.”

 

She couldn’t disagree with that. “No. No, he isn’t.”

 

“Strength can be managed,” Steve assured her. “Both Bucky and I learned how. I’ve been through this twice now, after that Asgardian fruit. It’ll be ok.”

 

“Alright,” she finally agreed, relaxing into him. “I’ll let you take care of it.”

 

“Good,” Bucky nodded with approval. “Because we both know how hard it is for you to let us take care of things.”

 

“It _is_ hard,” she admitted. “Because I’ve got it all figured out.” Laughing at herself, the men laughed with her and now she smiles at the memory.

 

Intrigued by her expression, Steve pouts while he douses her last serving of pancakes in syrup. “Penny for your thoughts?”

 

“Oh,” she sighs. “Just glad I have you to help out with Henry.”

 

Steve crosses the kitchen and kisses the top of her head. “You still worried about him?”

 

“’Course she is.” Bucky shakes his head. “Our girl wants to be in charge of _everything._ She should trust us. We can take care of the little guy.”

 

“I guess super-strength is your area of expertise,” Zaara reluctantly admits.

 

“Yeah. It is,” Steve nods, saucy. “And soon, pregnancy will be, too. You look like you could use a nap.”

 

“I just woke up,” she protests.

 

“Let us take the kids to camp,” Steve insists. Bucky nods in agreement, raising his eyebrows to silently chastise her. “You rest.”

 

“Oh, alright,” she relents with a pout of her own. “But I have to be up by 10. Matt and Foggy are stopping by.”

 

“Those two clowns?” Bucky scoffs. Steve is glad his friend feels the same way he does about the oddly athletic blind man.

 

“Your _attorneys,_ ” Zaara corrects him succinctly. “They have some big news they insist on telling us in person.”

 

“Whatever you say, doll,” Bucky agrees glumly.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

“Sergeant Barnes. We have good news,” Matt announces eagerly once they close the office door. Zaara stands off in the corner leaning against Steve. Even though she cannot read his mind, she senses her lover feels threatened by the Daredevil. Indeed, having scented her pregnancy from the moment he entered the X-mansion, Matt deliberately ignores the pang of jealousy that throbs in his heart. It is enough for him to bring word of his success and to claim the delighted expression on her face for himself. “We were able to get a message through to Secretary Ross: an attempt to bring the Winter Soldier to justice would be disastrous for him and his supporters. We told him what we explained to you last time: Bucky would be tried in the southern district of New York—in your old stomping grounds in Brooklyn. You’d have an onrush of local support and it would end up being a media circus. I also informed Secretary Ross in no uncertain terms that I would pack the jury with every Iraq and Afghanistan vet I could find. And that Bucky Barnes would walk away a free man.”

 

“Political disaster,” Foggy nods solemnly.

 

“So?” Steve interrupts, impatient. It’s difficult for him to receive Matt Murdock on his turf, even though Zaara is now, unequivocally, his.

 

“So, we made a deal,” Matt smirks.

 

Steve growls. “What kind of deal?”

 

Foggy steps in. “Sergeant Barnes is now a ward of Xaviar’s School for Gifted Youngsters. Ororo Munro is in charge of his rehabilitation. Zaara Xaviar is his legal guardian.”

 

Amused, Bucky gives a wide grin. “So now I got a _guardian_ now?What’s that mean? I’m guessing you don’t mean a guardian angel—even if she looks like one.” He winks at Zaara. She beams at him.

 

Foggy shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Secretary Ross was adamant. He didn’t want you walking free with the possibility . . .” He pauses and clears his throat. “With the possibility of the _other guy_ showing up again. We convinced him that Ms. Munro has a proven track record of helping people with . . . complicated pasts.”

 

Steve frowns, but Bucky seems pleased by it, so Matt continues. “Sergeant Barnes, this is the best deal we could get. The Xaviar School is officially your home now.”

 

“I dunno,” Steve interjects. “Sounds like internment to me.”

 

Foggy clears his throat. “House arrest is more like it.”

 

The Captain again, Steve demands answers. “House arrest? For how long? What are the terms?”

 

Foggy and Matt exchange glances. “Technically, Bucky cannot leave the Xaviar School ‘til the end of his natural life,” Foggy confesses glumly.

 

In an effort to soften the blow, Matt jumps in. “Sergeant Barnes, I assure you that you will easily outlive Secretary Ross’ career. In time, we will work hard and get you more freedom. Right now, this deal keeps you here with the people who care about you, people who can help you—instead of behind bars.”

 

“Instead of rotting in a jail cell,” Foggy adds.

 

Bucky shrugs. “Can’t complain about that, doll.”

 

Zaara rises and makes a confession. “Matt, Bucky’s already accompanied me on missions to Canada, California, and Scotland.”

 

Matt smirks. “We didn’t hear that.”

 

“What Secretary Ross doesn’t know won’t hurt Bucky,” Foggy assures her.

 

Steve stares hard at Zaara, doubt clouding his mind. “Did you have anything to do with this?”

 

“No. This was all Matt and Foggy.” She shakes her head ruefully. “And I thank you, gentlemen, for a job well done.” Turning to Steve, she doesn’t miss a beat. “If I intervened, do you think I’d have gotten him anything less than a full pardon? Sheesh, Steve. But thanks again, fellas. You did great. We can work with this. The public will accept it without any input from me and that saves a lot of trouble.” Duly chastened, Steve lowers his eyes to the floor.

 

Matt fixes his gaze on her fondly. “Ross is a politician. Administrations change. Time passes. Careers end. People move on. In time, we’ll secure more privileges for Sergeant Barnes.”

 

“Isn’t there a veterans or POW organization that could advocate for him?” she inquires, hoping they can continue to abide by the straight and narrow. Matt melts at the wistful expression on her face. Steve frowns.

 

Noting the renewal of tension in the room, Foggy jumps in. “We are working with some veterans’ organizations in Washington, Zaara. They’re very keen on helping Sergeant Barnes so there’s definitely hope. Like we said, the situation should improve over time. But for now, Bucky can rest, get the help that he needs, and know that he’s safe at the school.”

 

“Thank you, fellas.” For once, Steve lets go of the resentment he always seems to feel in the presence of Matt Murdock. With the realization that Bucky’s legal drama is finally over, he fights back tears.

 

“You’re welcome,” Foggy says quietly and, for a moment, the men are at peace. Zaara smiles with content, her attention falling upon Matt yet again. _What’s he up to?_ She wonders.

 

“Captain Rogers,” Matt begins carefully. “Now that the most important part of our meeting is over, I wanted to let you know that Natasha Romanoff took the liberty of contacting me on your behalf.”

 

“Oh?” Steve valiantly attempts to quell the hostility in his voice. Always just a hair’s breath beyond his control, he cannot abide the way Matt seems to focus on Zaara. Indeed, as if in response to his resentment, the class five mutant gives a slight cringe.

 

_Please, Steve. Go easy on him._

_Don’t worry, kitten,_ Bucky reassures her. _I won’t let Steve wallop Matt. He’s a good man, even if he makes me jealous as hell._

_Oh, stop._ A blush makes its way down her cheeks.

 

Matt continues, non-plussed. “It seems Ms. Romanoff was alerted to a considerable amount of unclaimed assets in your name.”

 

“What kind of assets?” Steve asks suspiciously as Bucky and Zaara’s eyes widen.

 

Foggy grins. “Government savings bonds.”

 

“Bonds?” Steve frowns. “I never bought any bonds. I only helped sell them in the war.”

 

“Well, there’s a considerable amount of bonds left in your name with the First Federal Bank—enough to warrant a public declaration. Ms. Romanoff found it in a recent publication from the New York State Office of the State Comptroller and alerted me; she mentioned, I think, that she also alerted you? I took the liberty of making a few phone calls and there’s apparently a safe deposit box in your name as well. It’s been kept at the downtown branch—since 1942.”

 

“1942?” Steve is taken aback. “Look, I don’t know what’s up, but I never bought bonds and I never had a safe deposit box of any kind.” He pauses, giving it some thought. Finally, he shrugs. “I never owned anything worth putting in a safe deposit box.” _Except Ma’s ring,_ he reminds himself, his fingers reaching instinctually for Zaara’s hand. She regards him curiously as he resumes playing with the heavy gold band.

 

“Well, it’s in your name,” Foggy repeats patiently. “And it’s been sitting there since 1942. I don’t know how long you have to claim those assets, but as your attorneys, we have to warn you that the government may seize them if you don’t act quickly. It’s been seventy years after all, and you’ve been put on notice.”

 

“Seventy years.” Steve marvels at it. “Guess I’m due for a trip to the city.”

 

“Gravitron won’t be making an appearance this time,” Zaara winks. “Shouldn’t be a big deal. Why don’t you go tomorrow?”

 

“Maybe,” Steve hems. “If you’ll come with me.”

 

Behind his darkened glasses, Matt’s eyes dart back and forth between the two of them.

 

“We’ll see,” she says softly, signaling for Steve to go. Bucky reads her message loud and clear.

 

“Come on, pal.” Bucky grabs his shoulder and squeezes it roughly. “Lady wants some privacy.”

 

“Alright.” Steve acquiesces unhappily. He says nothing when Bucky ushers him out the door, rubbing his shoulder with his metal arm all the while, an iron grip if ever there was one. His expression says it all and Steve has to agree. _She’s earned the right to talk to Matt alone._

 

“Zaara,” Foggy grins when they’ve gone. “I’ll see myself out.”

 

“Thank you, Foggy.” She smiles and gives him a huge hug. “You’ve saved the day.”

 

“Never thought anyone’d say that about me,” he murmurs before he takes his leave.

 

Matt chuckles but stops when Zaara turns to face him. “Matt,” she says quietly, closing the door.

 

“Are you reading me?” His tone of voice sounds flirtatious, but he is frowning.

 

“No. I don’t have to.” She reaches for his hands and he surrenders them to her.

 

“Another baby,” he muses, the scent overwhelming him now that everyone else has left the room. “Congratulations. Your children are very lucky. You’re everything a mother should be.”

 

Knowing how much it hurts for him to admit that, she takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Matt. She was crazy for not wanting you.” Pausing, she squeezes both his hands in hers. “You and I—we were never a good fit, were we?”

 

He speaks so softly she has to lean in close to hear him. “Then how come I wanted this so much?”

 

“I don’t know,” she confesses. _Well, maybe I do. Maybe it has something to do with that garden in Asgard. That Freia maiden business—all those damn men swarming them like bees to a blossom._ “It’s just . . . I love him. I know this is right. We’re meant to be.”

 

“I know that, too.” It’s rough for him to admit it but there’s still something that doesn’t quite feel right to the Daredevil—something about Sergeant Barnes, though he cannot put his finger on it. There’s an energy between the three of them; some strange sort of connection between Zaara, Steve, and Bucky that feels too close for comfort. His gut insists on it, though there’s no physical evidence and he willfully shoves it from his mind. Focusing on her happy state, his irradiated senses are overwhelmed. Joy practically pours out of her and spills over into his own heart, swelling in his chest. “He’s going to marry you. Isn’t he?”

 

“He is,” she confirms, valiantly ignoring his thoughts about the three of them. “If I let him.” She gives a playful smile. “But I’m still thinking about it.”

 

“Let him.” Matt’s conviction is not to be trifled with. “You deserve it. The children deserve it. Even if your first two came from God, this one should have its father. And I know he’ll be good to you—even if he isn’t my favourite person in the world.”

 

She nods silently, unwilling to contest his religious devotion. In fact, she admires his faith, his absolute trust in a higher power and the things that can only be seen by the heart. “You’re a good man, Matt. But I don’t think you’re a family man. Lucky for the world, isn’t it?”

 

“I don’t know about that,” he smiles. “Good-bye for now, Zaara. I know I’ll see you again.”

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Zaara cannot sleep. Something keeps bothering her.

 

“What is it, darling?” Steve asks with a yawn. They’ve been up quite late this evening. After her private meeting with Matt, he felt compelled to claim her several times over and wipe every speck of Daredevil pheromones from the surface of her body. Wisely, he said nothing about it. Now, on the brink of sleep, he forces himself to stay awake while she tosses and turns, wondering what’s going on.

 

She hesitates. “Well . . . I just felt like telling you something.”

 

“Tell me anything, sweetheart,” he murmurs, kissing the side of her breast and wrapping his body hot and heavy over hers.

 

“Mmmm . . .” she breathes, stroking his hair. “I was thinking about it and I realized I didn’t quite finish the story about your ring.”

 

“ _Your_ ring now,” he insists, but he is far too eager to hear what she has to say and is now fully awake. His eyes open wide. “Go on.”

 

“Something else happened when I got home from that mystery mission.” Her words make Steve squirm with curiosity. “I don’t know why I didn’t mention it before. Guess I never thought they could be connected.”

 

“What was connected?” he presses.

 

“Well, when I got back from the mission, I found out I was pregnant with Henry.” She says the words matter-of-factly, though she knows there is something important behind them—not that she can tell what it is.

 

“ _Pregnant?”_   Steve does the math in his head. Henry’s birthday is New Year’s Eve and he’s already been planning a hell of a party for the young boy.

 

“Yeah,” she says, resigned. A second unwanted pregnancy is not a source of pride for her. “I was almost three months along when I got home so it must have happened on the mission.”

 

“You were gone three months?” he says in disbelief.

 

“Well, thereabouts—I didn’t track it perfectly. And before you say anything, I may have been going after the Juggernaut, but he _wasn’t_ Henry’s father. The Professor has blood samples from every mutant on earth and . . . It wasn’t him. Or Sabretooth, thank God. We don’t know who Henry’s father is.”

 

“Darling,” he interrupts. “This sounds important.”

 

“I guess it is,” she agrees, squeezing him tight. “I don’t know why.”

 

“Neither do I,” he murmurs. “You fought the Juggernaut and Sabretooth and got pregnant at the same time. I can’t imagine . . .”

 

“Pregnancy boosts my powers,” she points out. “Remember Freia’s garden? I wonder if my body knew it needed to be pregnant so I could deal with those two monsters? It sort of makes sense.”

 

“Guess so,” he admits uncomfortably, not sure why this troubles him. Suddenly, he’s reminded of Henry’s physical strength. It perplexes him.

 

“I read that,” she mutters, sitting up in bed. “The Professor tested every mutant blood sample in our archive. Not one of them is related to Henry _._ ”

 

“Okay, darling,” Steve strokes her up and down, settling her back into bed. “Lie down. Relax. None of it matters. I love Ellie and I love Henry. I’m going to adopt them and be their father as soon as you let me. And this new baby is _ours._ We have to focus on that.” Even as he says the words, some sixth sense inside of him protests and imbues him with the tiniest bit of doubt. _Why does it matter if she got pregnant with Henry on that mission? We don’t know how she got pregnant with Ellie, either. Freia told her that Freia maidens have lots of children. It’s the nature of her mutation. But how the hell did she get Ma’s ring?_

 

“Are you sure?” she asks sadly.

 

“Of course I am,” he reassures her with kisses. “Stop worrying about it. Feels like you’re doubting me.”

 

“I’m sorry, Steve,” she apologizes. “I don’t mean to. I was raised to believe having children out of wedlock was a bad, bad thing. I know now that’s a harsh judgment and totally unfair, but half the world still thinks that way . . .”

 

“It’s alright, baby.” He kisses her again. “I don’t think that way. I love you and I love our family. But you need to get some sleep. I’m glad you told me about Henry. Feels like there’s some kind of mystery to solve—especially with Ma’s ring. I’d like to have all the facts, but I have what really counts so I won’t worry about it.”

 

“Thank you,” she whispers, kissing the top of his head as he snuggles into her breasts. “At least Bucky’s going to be alright now.”

 

“Yeah,” he agrees, still somewhat bitter about their lack of privacy. “If Buck has to be stuck somewhere, this is the best place for him. He loves it here.”

 

“He really does,” she agrees sleepily. But before she slips into slumber, she reminds him to call Natasha. 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

“Buck. I need to tell you somethin’.” Steve sidles over to the former Winter Soldier who is busy doing the breakfast dishes. The children have already gone to camp and Zaara is stealing an after-breakfast nap.

 

“What is it, punk?” Bucky tosses a wet dishtowel at him.

 

Without a glance, Steve catches it effortlessly. “I called Natasha last night.”

 

“Does Zaara know?” Bucky freezes. For some reason, he fears more for her sake than his own.

 

“’Course she does,” Steve scoffs. “She said it’s alright for Tasha to come visit. Thought it was a good idea. Thought it might help you.”

 

“Then why didn’t she tell me herself?” Bucky seems doubtful.

 

“She was going to,” Steve explains. “But I made the call late last night. Tasha’s already on her way.”

 

“What’s she up to these days?” Bucky struggles to appear disinterested, but he’s no spy and there’s no fooling his best friend.

 

“This and that,” Steve hems. “Truth is, I don’t really know. She’s not exactly forthcoming. We talked a bit about those assets she found. I still don’t think they’re mine, but she seems convinced.”

 

“Matt and Foggy seem to agree with her.” Busying himself with the dishes again, Bucky side-eyes him. “Am I the only one who knows the truth about your broke ass?”

 

Steve grins in spite of himself. “Well, I’m not broke anymore, even without those funds. So much for the good old days, huh?”

 

Bucky smirks.

 

“I know it must seem strange, but she’s coming to talk to _you._ Today. So, get ready.”

 

_We can still cancel, Bucky. If you think it’s too soon._

 

_Nah. It ain’t necessary, doll. I can handle it._

_Good. Because I figured it could put your mind at rest. I’ll be there to smooth things over if anything gets out of line. And if I find I can’t trust Ms. Romanoff, I can always wipe her._

_Won’t be necessary, doll._

 

“Buck?” Steve recognizes the peculiar expression on his face and knows his friend is speaking to Zaara through their tether. “Thought we were gonna let her rest.”

 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “She barged in. Not my fault.”

 

Behind three sets of doors, they hear Zaara give a loud groan. Steve blushes, realizing their nocturnal activities sound considerably louder than that to supersoldier ears. _But it doesn’t matter. Buck’s got a link to her mind. He knows just what we’re up to, no matter how many closed doors there are between us._

 

Later, when Natasha is due to arrive, Steve finds himself pacing up and down the hall. Passing by the portrait of a mature Peggy Carter, he stops to stare at it every now and then, partaking in silent communion with the former love of his life as if she could give him the answers he seeks. Indeed, it almost feels as if the answers are right there, hidden behind the wizened, inscrutable expression on her lovely face. _Wish you were still around,_ _Peg,_ he tells himself. Indeed, Peggy Carter’s portrait has witnessed a great deal of his life over the past few months. From the first time he came to the X-mansion and held his private meeting with the wayward Avengers to all the other meetings with Zaara, Matt, Foggy, and the X-men. Even on the night he fainted it hung before him like a witness, kept vigil, perhaps even stood guard over the many important things taking place behind those thick, mahogany doors. _She’s like my guardian angel now,_ Steve tells himself with a sigh. _I sure hope this meeting brings some peace to Buck. He deserves it. He’s been through so much. Natasha wants to help him—I know she does. It’ll be OK._

 

Bucky gets a bad case of the jitters when Zaara bids Natasha welcome to the X-mansion. The Black Widow enters their home with very little fanfare, a customary half-smile on her face, and follows Zaara silently into Xaviar’s office. On the way, they pass Steve who greets her with a brief hug as he checks in on her, reassured that no one has locked her up over the events in Leipzig. Even so, he knows better than to ask where she’s staying or what she’s been up to. Zaara assures her that she is welcome to visit with Sam and Wanda, though Natasha shyly demurs. “I’m sure you’re taking good care of them, Ms. Xaviar.” Casting a sly glance at Steve, she adds, “You and your unclaimed assets, too.”

 

“I hope so,” Zaara replies simply. Looking Natasha straight in the eye, she doesn’t waver. “Shall we leave the two of you alone? I’m here if Bucky needs me, but I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” Her eyes meet Steve’s and she winks at him.

 

 _She sure seems satisfied. Must like what she sees upstairs,_ Steve thinks to himself. He follows her back to the suite and they curl up chastely in bed, waiting. “I like her,” Zaara finally says out loud.

 

“Good,” Steve nods.

 

“She has a lot to atone for,” Zaara adds quickly, as if to balance out her enthusiasm for the Black Widow.

 

“I don’t really know much about her past,” Steve admits.

 

“That’s alright,” Zaara shrugs. “You don’t need to. She wants to do better, to give better than she got. Bucky’s in good hands.”

 

“Swell.” Steve nods to himself, his heavy, muscular arms enclosing her in their embrace. He kisses the top of her head and reaches down for her belly. “How much are we going to tell her?”

 

Zaara cackles. “She’s already figured out most of it on her own. Girlfriend’s got brilliant instincts. She knows better than to ask, though. I don’t think I’ll be needing to do any mindwipes today.”

 

Steve nuzzles his chin into the nape of her neck. “Four more weeks and I should be able to start feeling kicks.” Nevertheless, his fingers always seem to be searching her body.

 

“Is that what all the constant groping is about?” she asks, incredulous.

 

“Yup.” Steve is utterly shameless.

 

“Bucky’s in on it, too. Isn’t he?” She catches his wrist in her hand and lifts it from her body, demanding to know.

 

“Uh . . .” Steve pauses, unwilling to blow the whistle on his friend. “Buck’s read as many pregnancy books as I have by now. Maybe more.”

 

With half a laugh, Zaara rolls her eyes to the heavens. “You guys. What am I gonna do with you?”

 

“Oh, I can think of a few things for you to do with _me_ ,” Steve chuckles, squeezing her tight.

 

“I can imagine,” she answers drily. “Just let me check on Bucky first, would you?”

 

Steve sighs. “Okay.”

 

“I’ll just take a peek,” she protests. “I do think he deserves privacy.”

 

“He won’t mind,” Steve says mildly. “You take great care of him.”

 

 _I think you got that backwards, Steve._ Closing her eyes, Zaara concentrates. _You’re good, Bucky. Don’t be afraid. You can make amends, atone for whatever sin you think you’ve committed. You can trust her. She wants you to have peace._

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

Bucky sits uncomfortably in the huge, wingback chair. The scent of Tuscan leather floods his nostrils and distracts him slightly, but he keeps his eyes focused on Romanoff.

 

“You saved my life, Barnes.” Natasha cuts to the chase. “You don’t need to ask my forgiveness.”

 

“It’s not that,” Bucky demurs, his voice soft as always. “You know it’s not that.”

 

“I know,” she agrees, her voice just as quiet. “We both know what you’re talking about. And it’s okay. It really is. I know it wasn’t _you_.”

 

Bucky closes his eyes, his expression pained. Finally, he utters his unholy mantra, the vile thought that torments him night and day. “Tasha. It _was_ me. _I did it.”_

 

“It wasn’t you.” She says the words as if they make everything final. Chewing her lip and regarding Bucky Barnes quizzically, she lets down her guard knowing there’s nothing to guard against at the moment. She smiles fully; a rare thing for Natasha Romanoff. “They treating you well around here, Barnes?” she asks slyly.

 

“Uh . . .” Bucky rouses himself from his stupor. “Yeah. Yeah, they are. Too good.”

 

“Figured that,” she smirks knowingly. “Your Zaara Xaviar is quite the catch—even if Steve thinks he’s the one that caught her.” Bucky stares at her in shock. “Never you mind, Barnes,” Natasha chuckles in that hoarse way of hers. “I caught wind of Murdock and Nelson’s deal with Ross. Very nice. She must be special . . . to _both_ of you.”

 

“You got it all figured out. As usual,” Bucky mumbles, the ghost of a smile flashing over his features.

 

“Well, I was the spy. You were always the soldier.” With a peculiar glint in her eyes, she backs off. “You know, Barnes—you weren’t the worst thing Hydra did to me. Not by a longshot.”

 

Bucky blinks in surprise. “Natalia,” he whispers.

 

“Yeah,” she chortles bitterly. “So, stop puffing yourself up, Barnes. It’s not all about _you._ ”

 

Bucky’s jaw drops unwittingly.

 

“It wasn’t you,” she continues, seeing that she’s finally getting through to him. “You were just one person they controlled. One of many, _including me._ You’re absolved, Barnes. In fact, I’m sort of grateful.”

 

Bucky swallows. His voice sounds hoarse. “Grateful? For what?”

 

“You brought me out of myself,” she confesses hesitantly, for she’s never explained it quite this way before—not even to Clint, and certainly not to herself. She finds it difficult to put into words. “You saved my life when there was no need. You, or some part of you, showed _compassion._ A thing I’d never known in my life and . . . It got me thinking. That was the beginning. That . . . was my way out.”

 

Bucky stares at her, uncomprehending.

 

“The straw that broke the camel’s back,” she smiles and gives a long exhale. “Soon after that, there was Clint. And Budapest. But you were the spark, Barnes. _You._ So, it wasn’t all bad. And, I’m sorry you feel bad about it. You need to let that go sometime, alright? Promise me you will.”

 

Bucky shakes his head in refusal.

 

 _“Promise me.”_ Natasha’s expression will tolerate no dissent. She waits until he acquiesces with a hesitant nod. Then, she continues. “There’s a reason we’re speaking in English, no?”

 

He shrugs.

 

“Because it’s who you _are,_ Barnes. Never forget that,” she informs him in a trembling voice. “You were _not,_ you were _never_ that . . . that thing. The Winter Soldier. You were _always_ more. That’s why we were together. I can’t explain it, not exactly, but you were never just a Hydra thug. Sure, you were under their thumb. Like I was. I know exactly what that’s like. But you couldn’t, wouldn’t have treated me the way you did if there wasn’t _something_ more to you . . . Something _inside you . . ._ ” Stopping herself, she gazes hard at him, as if she could penetrate his mind.

 

“Tasha,” he mumbles, shaking his head. _It can’t be_. He opens his mouth, about to apologize again.

 

“Don’t say sorry,” she interrupts. “I know you’re sorry. I’m sorry. We’re _all_ sorry. It’s over. None of it was our fault. We came out of there, we made it out . . .”

 

“Is that why you saved me in Leipzig?” he asks, sullen. _I didn’t deserve it._

 

“Did you remember me then?” she grins. “Or was it that moment when I wrapped my legs around your head? I figured that might’ve done the trick.”

 

Bucky clasps his hands over his eyes and groans. “Tasha . . .”

 

“Aw, I thought it was funny.” She chuckles good-naturedly. Slapping his thigh with her hand, she rises. “But I have to go. Say hello to Wanda and Sam. And tell Steve good luck. He’s going to need it when that baby comes.”

 

“The baby? How did you know?” Bucky stutters in amazement.

 

“They don’t call me the Black Widow for nothing,” she snorts, spinning on her heel before heading for the door. After a moment, she glances back at him. “And for heaven’s sake, tell that knucklehead to go get his money.”

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

“Sir?”

 

“It’s good to see you again, Sergeant Barnes,” the Professor smiles.

 

“Please. Call me Bucky. Uh, I hope you don’t mind my visiting. I had another vision and I don’t wanna bother Zaara about it—not after this morning with Natasha. Things got . . . intense. Storm said you’ve been helping out Logan a bit.” Bucky speaks in that soft, tentative way of his, in genuine awe of Zaara’s adopted father and all the gifts he has brought into his life. Keeping a respectful distance away from the bed, he casts his eyes to the floor.

 

“Indeed, I have,” Charles Xaviar confirms solemnly. “My work with Logan may be of some interest to you—but we shall return to that later. It seems we have several mysteries to solve. I understand young Henry has been displaying unusual feats of strength.”

 

“Uh, yeah.” Taken aback, Bucky brightens. “Is that something you could help with, too?”

 

“I’ve had some unusual readings from the young lad,” the Professor says slowly. “I’m surprised Zaara hasn’t caught them herself, but she is so close to her son, they might have slipped by under the radar. He seems to be developing a sort of mental shield not unlike your Captain’s.”

 

“Steve,” Bucky murmurs thoughtfully. “He hasn’t come to see you yet, has he?”

 

“No, I’m sorry to say.” The Professor appears genuinely bereft. In the next moment, his voice sounds more hopeful. “Though I think he shall come soon. He’s terribly frightened of overtaxing me or overstepping boundaries—with no need.”

 

“That’s Steve. Polite to a fault.” Bucky cracks a smile. “Me, on the other hand, I ain’t so proper.”

 

“On the contrary, Bucky,” Charles Xaviar grins. “I find you delightful. I hope you will visit me more often now that you are officially a ward of the school. That is, if I am not up and about in the next couple of weeks. Then I’ll be the one to visit _you._ ”

 

Bucky blushes. “Sir, I’d be honored.”

 

“The honour would be all mine,” the Professor demurs. “The world has failed to sufficiently thank you and the Captain for your service. After all, none of us would be here without you. Let that sink in for a moment, shall we?”

 

Bucky pauses, holding the Professor’s gaze. _You mean it. You really do._

_Of course I do. My mother lived in New York when Captain Rogers downed that plane. His sacrifice saved all our lives. This school wouldn’t be here without him. And you saved Captain Rogers yourself, time and again. I know your story, Sergeant Barnes. Bucky—rest assured you will always have a home with us and with Steve and Zaara, if you so choose. I know how they feel about you and I am happy to do whatever I can to help you, when you have need of me. I am not my old self as of yet, though I promise to do my very best._

 

Bucky bows his head. “Your best is more than I deserve, sir.”

 

“Then let us agree to disagree on that,” Charles Xaviar raises his eyebrows. “Now . . . Your vision. Quite curious, actually.”

 

“I think so, too, sir,” Bucky nods. Still uncomfortable with asking anything of the Professor, he worries what Zaara will think. _What’ll she say when she finds out I’m bothering Charles Xaviar?_

“Let me worry about Zaara,” he murmurs, brushing off Bucky’s concern. “Now, please come closer. I’m weaker than I used to be and a little skin contact should make the job easier.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Bucky takes a seat by the bed and leans close. The Professor puts his hands upon Bucky’s brow, much in the way Zaara has in the past.

 

“Hmmm . . .” the telepath frowns. “A deep-seated mental shield—designed, I should say, not so much to keep others out, but to keep things _in_. Curious. I shall have to maneuver around it.” He furrows his brow. “If I didn’t know better . . .”

 

Bucky waits patiently. Having lived at the mercy of telepaths for months on end, he is all too glad to surrender to the benevolent mutant whose powers astonish him. The mind control of Hydra only ever did him harm and he resisted it, fought back the best that he could. But now, he opens himself and his mind, as far he can, to Charles Xaviar.

 

“There,” the Professor finally huffs, satisfied. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say Zaara built that shield herself. It has her signature all over it. Only a high-level telepath could negotiate it, I dare say. Curious. It’s been there for a very long time—since your youth, I imagine. Why, it’s chockfull of memories . . . feelings . . . beliefs and convictions . . . all the things that make you _you._ ”

 

“Mental shield?” Bucky is perplexed. “She said something about that before, but not much. She hasn’t done a deep reading on me yet. Lots of stuff keeps gettin’ in the way. Not just bringin’ you back; it’s the kids, Gravitron, Asgard. Even space aliens! You heard all about that by now, I’d guess.”

 

“Yes. I have,” the Professor sighs. “And it’s high time I took over. She deserves a rest. We’ll have to work slowly, I’m afraid. But it will get done. Hold on.” He closes his eyes, fingers steady upon Bucky’s temples. Bucky watches in silence, wondering at it. “I see it,” Xaviar suddenly breathes. “Yes . . .”

 

Bucky sees it, too.

 

_Blue feathers float across the stage. Lighter than air, they descend gracefully to the floor. Satin pointe shoes glide by, their tips brushing silently back and forth. Suddenly, the darkness is pierced by a bright spotlight. It is his cue. The Winter Soldier raises his weapon. His breath picks up slightly, undetectable behind his blackened mask. He squints his eyes and searches the audience for his target. One of the dancers, the one in blue, pirouettes gracefully and ends her solo with a girlish curtsy. She flits offstage, her costume spewing blue feathers as she flees into the wings—directly into the path of the Soldier. Their eyes meet in the darkness. She doesn’t have to see the gun—she already knows it is there. He is frozen. He cannot move. He is helpless. She raises her hands and touches him, fingers trembling lightly against his brow, the only skin he has exposed._

Bucky recoils in horror. _It’s Zaara. That was Zaara._

 

He gasps and collapses to the floor.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to end another chapter with fainting. I don’t know what it is with me, but I have so many plotbunnies and inspirations for this story that I selfishly just go with them (while trying very hard to keep the plot progressing and to tie up loose ends). I don’t mean to be repetitive. Forgive me! I hope I have a good excuse because with all the telepathy and blocked memories, there’s got to be some brain trauma going on, right? And trauma to the head can knock you unconscious. If I may be so bold, maybe think of this as something like jazz music; variations on themes that turn up as little fragments of the same melody now and then, always changing it up and praying I am not tedious. Don't worry—Bucky wakes up right away in the next chapter—I promise! Sorry! Please don’t hate me!


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